BARB BOX 

OIL 
CO\^FUNCHER$ 


BD^WlNaSAB 


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BOOKS  BY 
EDWIN  L.  SABIN 


*'Old^'  Jim  Bridger  on  the  Moccasin 

Trail 
Pluck  on  the  Long  Trail;  or,  Boy 

Scouts  in  the  Eockies 

great  west  series 

*'The  Great  Pike's  Peak  Rush;''  or, 
Terry  in  the  New  Gold  Fields 

On  the  Overland  Stage;  or,  Terry  as 
A  King  Whip  Cub 

Opening  the  Iron  Trail 

range  and  trail  series 

Bar  B  Boys;  or,  the  Young  Cow- 
punchers 

Range  and  Trail;  or,  The  Bar  B's 
Great  Drive 

Circle  K;  or,  Fighting  for  the  Flock 

Old  Four-Toes;  or,  Hunters  of  the 
Peaks 

Treasure  Mountain;  or,  The  Young 
Prospectors 

ScARFACE  Ranch  ;  or.  The  Young  Home- 
steaders 


THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


^ 


ALMOST    SIDE     BY    SIDE    GRAY    JACK     AND    THE    BANDED 
STEER    RACED    ALONG. 


Bar  B  Boys 


OR 


The  Young  Cow-Punchers 


BY 

EDWIN  L.  SABIN 


Lift  yore  tails  an'  roll  'em  high. 
You'll  be  a  cowboy  by  an'  by. 

Old  Song. 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  COMPANY 

PTTBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1909 
By  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 

Eleventh  Printing 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CHAPTER   CORRAL 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.    Phil  Steps  Off i 

11.    Phil  Runs  for  His  Life  ....  lo 

III.  Phil  Joins  the  Utes 19 

IV.  Phil  Joins  the  Cowboys  ....  29 
V.    At  the  Bar  B  Ranch 37 

VI.     Phil  Rides  the  Range     ....  51 

VII.    Phil  Holds  the  Little  Red  Bull     .  60 

VIII.     Phil  is  Lost  Again 68 

IX.    The  Camp  in  the  Arroyo     ,     .     .  yy 

X.     Old  Jess   Instructs 88 

XI.     Phil  Ropes  the  Banded  Steer  .     .  102 
XII.    Cowman    Simms    Meets    the    Man 

with   the   Limp 114 

XIII.  Phil  Receives  His  "  String  "     .     .  130 

XIV.  The  Man  with  the  Frozen  Smile, 

Again 139 

XV.    The  Roundup  Camp 147 

XVI.     Phil   Upholds   the   Honor   of   the 

Bar    B 158 

XVII.    The  Big  Circle 166 

XVIII.    The  Signs  in  the  Arroyo    .      ,     .  178 

XIX.    The  Branding  of  the  Big  Maverick  187 


M23082 


CHAPTER     CORRAL 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

XX.     Phil  Proves  Himself 195 

XXI.     Phil    Meets    the    Enemy    and    is 

Theirs     .     .     o 211 

XXn.    The   Last  of  the   Man    with   the 

Frozen   Smile 220 

XXHI.     Mistress    Cherry    Joins    the    Camp  237 

XXIV.    The  Branding  of  the  Calves    .     .  252 

XXV.    No  Woollies   Allowed     ....  266 

XXVI.     Mistress  Cherry  to  the  Rescue       .  283 

XXVII.     Pepper  Seeks  the  Wild  Bunch  .      .  303 

XXVIII.    The  Wild-Horse  Camp     ....  315 

XXIX.     More  Rustler  Signs — and  Bears     .  331 

XXX.     Something  Happens  to  Cherry  .     .  347 

XXXI.     Phil  Regains    His   Watch    ...  358 

XXXIl.    Adios 374 


PERSONAGE  ROUNDUP 

Phil — Who  is  the  Amateur  on  the  Range 

Chet — Who  is  a  Regular  Professional 

Cherry — Who  Also  is  a  Professional,  for  a  Girl 

Mr.  Sim  MS — Who  is  Chet's  Father,  a  Rancher  and  a  Cowman 

Old  Jess — Who  has  been  Punching  Cattle  Forty  Years 

Haney — Who  is  a  Red-Headed  Cowboy  from  Texas 

Buster — Who  Never  has  been  Out  of  the  Hills 

Ford — Who  is  a  Cowboy  from  Harvard;  likewise  Boston 

HoMBRE — Who    is    a    Mexican    Christened    Manuel    but    Never 

Called  So 
Pete — Who   is  the  Roundup  Cook. 
Tom— Who  is  the  Bar  B  Cat 
"Boys"   from   the   Lazy  J,  the   Open  A,   the  Reverse   R,   the 

Flying  U,  the  Triangle  Cross,  the  Three  I,  the  Boot 
Captain    Billy,    Ute    Chief;    Charley    Pow-wow,    and    Other 

"  Good  "    Indians 
Horses — Pepper,    Medicine   Eye,    Grey   Jack,   Doc,    Bow    Legs, 

Rover,    Sam,    Sukie,    Nig,    Hump,    Lonesome,    Ring,    Old 

Squaw,  Ute,  Monte  and  Seventy  More 
The  Banded  Steer 
The  Man  with  One  Eye,  the  Man  with  the  Limp,  the  Man 

with  the  Frozen  Smile,  Seen  by  Phil  first  in  the  Box  Caiion 

BAR    B   RANCH   AND    RANGE 
Seventy-five  Miles  from  a  Railroad,  in  the  Rocky  Mountains 


BAR   B   BOYS 

CHAPTER   I 

PHIL  STEPS  OFF 

The  passenger  train  was  laboriously  puffing,  with 
two  engines,  up  one  of  those  four  per  cent,  grades  not 
uncommon  in  Rocky  Mountain  railroading.  The 
ascent  was  being  made  by  a  series  of  undulating, 
snaky  curves.  Upon  the  back  platform  of  the  rear 
coach  stood  Phil  Macowan,  enjoying  himself. 
There  was  a  novelty  in  the  situation,  and  this  was 
his  first  experience  of  the  West.  However,  he  soon 
was  to  have  experiences  in  plenty. 

The  train  was  almost  at  the  top  of  the  divide.  A 
massy  rolling  carpet  of  somber  dark  green  patterned 
here  and  there  in  emerald,  below  stretched  league  after 
league  of  pine  and  spruce  interspersed  with  occasional 
patches  of  lighter  quaking  aspen. 

Around-about,  above  the  timber  and  much  higher 
than  the  train,  although  not  all  appearing  so,  between 
the  green  of  forest  and  the  blue  of  sky,  were  outlined 
snowy  crests,  and  naked  granite  ranges  seamed  and 
blotched  with  white;  and  had  Phil  been  enabled  to 
see  ahead  over  his  own  hill  he  would  have  descried 
the  mountains  of  Utah,  one  hundred  miles  and  more 
westward. 

Far  on  the  north  the  heavy  timber  area  ended  and 


2  BAR   B    BOYS 

was  succeeded  by  a  country  of  mesas,  or  table-lands: 
curious  flattened  formations  with  abrupt  sides  and 
well-defined  rims  like  walls.  This  mesa  country 
looked  regular  and  bare ;  but  more  intimate  knowledge 
of  it  was  to  acquaint  Phil  with  its  sheer  ruggedness 
and  its  arinpje  covering  of  sage  and  grease-wood, 
cedar  and  pinon.  Now  miles  distant,  in  the  clear  air 
it  lay  apparently  plain  to  the  eye,  nevertheless  just 
enough  softened  by  bluish  haze  to  make  it  mysterious 
and  romantic. 

Comfortably  braced  upon  the  lowest  step  of  the 
open-platform  car  Phil  rode  and  thrilled.  For  no 
sound  was  to  be  heard,  save  the  exhaust  of  the  two 
engines.  In  that  broad  expanse  of  earth  and  sky 
stirred  no  living  thing  save  a  striped  gopher  scamper- 
ing among  the  rocks  and  the  twin  hawks  floating  like 
sentries  above  a  wooded  vale  below.  It  was  a  world 
waiting  to  be  explored;  and  at  intervals  touching  the 
ground  with  his  toe  Phil  keenly  wished  that  instead 
of  being  bound,  even  alone,  for  California,  to  recu- 
perate after  his  pneumonia,  he  might  stop  off  right 
here  and  begin  adventuring. 

The  hour  was  about  noon.  The  season  was  May; 
but  the  sun  was  warm,  the  air  was  motionless  and 
balmy,  and  at  this  9,000  feet  elevation,  where  the 
remnants  of  snow  were  still  scattered,  there  was  no 
chilliness.  The  train  (which  repeatedly  boxed  the 
compass)  was  traversing  a  south  slope,  open  and 
mellow,  where  last  year's  grasses  were  tall  and  feath- 
ery, bushes  were  bursting  into  bloom,  and  the  bright 
scarlet  flowers  called  Indian  Paint  Brushes  were  al- 


PHIL   STEPS   OFF  3 

ready  making  gay  show.  Phil  extended  farther  his 
truant  foot.  Crouched,  he  dared  to  drag  it.  The  train 
was  merely  crawHng;  and  swinging  down  and  out  he 
disembarked  entirely,  to  run  along  holding  to  the 
step  rail.  In  bravado  he  dared  to  dismiss  that  also, 
and  to  trot  behind. 

Urged  by  his  spirit  of  adventure  he  darted  aside, 
and  grabbed  a  flower  as  a  trophy;  and  another;  he 
had  time,  with  this  slow-coach  of  a  train — and  he 
veered  still  farther  from  the  track  to  gather  in  a  paint 
brush,  the  giant  of  all.  This  gave  the  train  a  little 
head-start;  and  when  he  had  tugged  the  stem  loose 
an  increasing  staccato  clankety-clankety  warned  him 
that  he  had  better  sprint  aboard. 

For  a  few  paces  he  ran  laughingly — then  on  a 
sudden  he  indeed  put  his  best  foot  forward ;  evidently 
the  train  had  struck  a  bit  of  down-grade ;  with  clank- 
ety-clankety-clankety  the  wheels  were  rolling  faster 
and  ever  faster.  He  gained  only  gradually.  He 
snatched  off  his  hat  and  spurted  in  earnest.  Clankety- 
clankety-clankety-clankety,  sped  the  wheels. 

Phil  was  no  slouch  at  running,  but  this  was  a  race 
9,000  feet  in  the  air — a  mile  and  a  half  higher  than 
he  was  accustomed  to.  Besides,  he  had  had  pneu- 
monia. His  lungs  were  bursting,  his  legs  wabbled, 
he  slipped  on  a  piece  of  ice  and  staggered  sprawling; 
and  when,  with  his  trousers  torn  across  the  knees 
and  his  hands  bleeding,  he  lurched  to  his  feet  the 
rear  car  of  the  train  was  just  being  swallowed  by  a 
cut,  fifty  yards  ahead. 

"Toot,  toot!"  called  back  the  engines,  in  derision. 


4  BAR   B    BOYS 

Phil  quit;  he  could  run  no  more.  But  only  for 
an  instant  he  stood,  appalled.  He  must  head  her  off; 
on  an  up-grade  he  could  catch  her.  He  toiled  to  the 
top  of  the  bank.  There  was  the  track  again,  a 
hundred  yards  on  his  right  and  apparently  a  fraction 
up  the  hill.  Scrambling,  hurrying,  desperate,  he 
made  for  it.  He  beat  the  train,  and  he  sat  down, 
panting,  to  wait. 

A  most  convenient  arrangement  of  trackage  was 
this — where  a  fellow  could  drop  off  and  pick  flowers, 
and  strike  across  and  get  aboard  again.  He  must 
chuckle  as  he  fancied  how  astonished  the  brakeman 
would  be  to  have  him  flag  the  train  with  his  hat;  to 
see  him  in  front  when  he  had  thought  him  behind! 

He  was  well  rested,  and  yet  the  train  had  not  come 
back.  He  grew  uneasy  and  arose  to  his  feet.  Much 
higher  on  the  slope,  and  beyond,  smoke  floated  above 
another  cut.  There  was  his  train!  With  a  wide 
circuit  about  the  hill  it  had  emerged — but  he  mas  on 
a  track  already  passed  over!     He  was  left. 

Now  forth  sprang  Phil,  running,  frantically  waving 
his  hat,  yelling.  But  he  made  no  impression  upon 
the  train,  nor  upon  the  mighty  world  about;  and 
presently,  with  a  sob  of  despair  and  of  exhaustion, 
he  threw  himself  down.  Stillness,  broken  only  by 
his  gasps,  ensued. 

High  upon  this  hillside,  in  the  midst  of  the  strange 
Rockies,  he  was  alone,  an  atom  as  compared  with 
those  leagues  of  timber  and  rock  beneath  the  limit- 
less sky. 

Abruptly  he  sat  up,  and  dashed  his  hand  across  his 


PHIL   STEPS   OFF  5 

wet  eyes.  He  was  not  in  such  a  bad  fix,  after  all; 
for  here  were  the  rails  to  follow,  and  they  would  lead 
him  out.  But  should  he  follow  them  forward,  or 
back?  Fully  an  hour  ago  the  train  had  snorted  out 
from  the  last  station,  which  was  merely  a  box-car 
and  a  water-tank;  but  this  was  at  least  a  habitation, 
and  how  far  ahead  was  the  next  station  he  did  not 
know.     Therefore,  he  chose  the  box-car. 

Hopeful  and  alive  again,  he  took  a  survey  to  see 
which  direction  was  back.  The  track  turned  so  often 
that  direction  was  an  uncertain  quantity.  His  ex- 
perience in  catching  that  train  by  a  short-cut  had  be- 
wildered him!  He  opened  an  envelope,  which  he 
found  in  his  pocket,  and  flattened  it,  and  thrusting  a 
stick  through  it  stuck  it  into  the  ground  like  a  sign, 
broadside  to  the  right  and  left.  Then  he  selected 
the  right-hand  way,  and  trudged  off.  The  track 
curved,  and  having  rounded  the  curve  and  emerged, 
Phil,  looking  back,  could  distinguish  the  envelope 
landmark  against  the  hill-slope  above.  Consequently, 
he  was  descending  and  on  the  backward  road.  But 
he  did  not  feel  assured  until  another  turn  took  him 
still  farther  down.  Then,  reHeved,  he  set  his  face 
to  the  fore  and  began  to  enjoy  himself  once  more. 

The  thin  and  crisp  but  warm  air,  the  glowing  sun, 
the  perfect  calm,  the  wondrous  blue,  the  pungent 
scents,  the  expanse  of  earth  and  sky,  the  sensation  of 
being  alone  and  dependent  upon  his  own  wits,  and 
yet  within  reach  of  succor,  led  him  to  whistle  blithely 
and  step  springily.  The  track,  turning  upon  itself 
as  was  its  habit,  swung  past  a  hundred  yards  below; 


BAR   B    BOYS 


and  leaving  the  portion  that  he  was  on  he  boldly  went 
sliding  and  scrambling  down  to  it,  thus  saving  time 
and  labor. 

The  track  reappearing  below  again,  in  similar 
manner  he  short-cut  to  that  place,  also — leaving  the 
grassy  open,  crossing  a  strip  of  young  aspens,  and 
coming  out  at  the  friendly  rails. 

Such  progression  from  terrace  down  to  terrace, 
along  the  great  hillside,  furnished  a  fine  excitement. 
Now  far  below  was  the  track  once  more,  as  it  swept 
in  a  half  circle  and  entered  the  dense  timber.  Reck- 
less and  elated,  down  plunged  Phil,  sliding,  striding 
with  long  step,  ploughing  the  soft  sod  with  his  heels 
and  skipping  from  boulder  to  boulder;  feeling  a 
veritable  woodsman  and  explorer. 

A  foaming  brook  stopped  him  sharply;  but  after 
skirting  it  for  a  few  rods  he  made  a  run  and  jump, 
and  leaped  it,  landing  in  a  copse  of  quaking  aspen. 
Through  these,  their  new  leaves  a-quiver  as  if  shud- 
dering over  some  tragedy  of  wild  life,  he  hastened — 
only  to  become  entangled  amidst  old  fallen  timber, 
the  relic  of  ancient  fire  or  snow-slide.  Now  ducking, 
now  climbing,  finally  he  escaped  (and  glad  to  do  so) 
into  a  clearer  area  of  living  spruce  and  pine. 

Walking  briskly  again  and  constantly  anticipating 
to  make  exit  upon  the  track,  Phil  found  that  the  exit 
was  as  constantly  being  postponed.  The  aisles  of 
reddish  trunks  standing  above  the  dead  strewn  nee- 
dles and  the  sparse  grass  and  brush  stretched  endless. 

Where  was  the  track,  anyway?  He  should  be 
encountering   it.     Surely  he   had  gone   far   enough. 


PHIL    STEPS   OFF  7 

and  he  had  been  aiming  straight  for  it.  He  walked 
vigorously  for  ten  minutes;  then  he  paused,  and 
peered.  But  only  the  thousand  trees,  and  the  slight 
incline,  brown  and  green  and  dappled  with  the  sun 
but  monotonously  unbroken,  lay  before,  behind,  on 
either  hand.  There  was  no  track  nor  token  of  a 
track.  Here,  in  this  solitude^  man  might  never  have 
been. 

Standing  motionless,  heart-sick,  Phil  listened.  An 
engine  whistled,  in  faint  and  ghostly  fashion.  The 
sound  came  from  quite  the  opposite  direction  to  that 
which  he  might  have  expected.  He  turned  and  hur- 
ried for  that  quarter.  The  engine  whistled  again. 
No,  he  was  heading  wrong.  He  changed  his  course. 
The  whistle  had  seemed  much  nearer.  But  a  third 
whistle  was  farther  away  than  ever,  and  at  yet  an- 
other point  of  the  compass. 

Again  a  sob  welled  in  Phil's  throat.  He  was  lost; 
or,  rather,  as  the  Indian  would  say,  the  track  was 
lost,  he  was  here. 

The  dreadful  panic  of  the  lost  now  seized  Phil,  and 
he  ran  wildly,  headlong,  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  on- 
ward; if  the  track  was  not  in  one  direction  it  must 
be  in  another.  But  he  discovered  it  not.  The  engine 
whistled  no  more  for  him.  It  had  not  waited.  He 
was  deserted  and  left  to  perish. 

And  beside  himself  over  his  plight,  running,  trudg- 
ing, shrieking,  halting  to  gasp  and  listen  but  suddenly 
running  again,  bruised  by  branch  and  trunk,  scratched 
by  twig,  torn  by  thorn,  Phil  roamed  hither  and  thither 
until  with  a  moan  he  sank  to  the  earth. 


8  BAR   B    BOYS 

Around-about  the  forest  stretched,  as  before,  with 
never  a  sign  of  human  Hfe.  He  had  given  up  on 
the  edge  of  a  little  opening  or  park,  where  the  grass 
was  matted  and  deep  and  where  the  paint  brushes 
flamed.  Across  the  park  was  a  ledgy  outcrop  of 
rock.  It  seemed  to  Phil  that  he  heard  the  trickle  of 
water.  This  brought  him  to  his  feet,  and  lured  him 
on  until,  by  the  ledge,  he  found  a  tiny  spring  drip- 
ping through  the  mossy  verdure. 

Making  a  cup  of  his  hands  he  drank  greedily ;  then 
he  climbed  the  ledge  at  one  end,  wistfully  to  look 
about  him.  But  the  view  was  the  same,  always  the 
same:  trees,  and  trees,  and  trees,  serried,  stiff  and 
unfriendly. 

The  icy  water  which  he  had  swallowed  into  an 
empty  stomach,  combined  with  the  strain  that  he  was 
under,  caused  a  sickish  sensation.  The  top  of  the 
ledge  was  sunny  and  warm.  Just  for  a  moment 
would  he  lie  there,  upon  his  back,  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  in  the  angle  of  a  log  where  the  grass  was  long 
and  soft;  just  for  a  moment,  miserable,  to  rest. 

Far  and  near,  around,  the  myriad  trees  breathed 
musically;  subtle  scents  floated  on  the  almost  imper- 
ceptible breeze ;  earth  and  sky  were  reveling  in  spring, 
thinking  good  glad  thoughts.  And  Phil,  even  while 
wondering  what  was  going  to  happen  to  him  and 
what  his  mother  and  father  would  say,  drifted  away 
into  peace. 

He  was  aroused  by  voices.  Struggling  to  open  his 
eyes  and  collect  his  wits  he  sat  up  in  alarm.     He  was 


PHIL    STEPS   OFF  9 

vaguely  aware  that  the  day  had  well  waned,  for  the 
log  was  casting  a  shadow  across  him  and  he  was 
cold.  He  must  have  been  sound  asleep.  The  smell 
of  burning  wood  was  wafted  to  him;  below,  under 
the  ledge,  men  were  talking  and  using  many  oaths. 


CHAPTER  II 

PHIL  RUNS   FOR   HIS  LIFE 

"  That  bunch  ther*  ought  to  be  worth  two  hundred 
dollars,  flat.     They're  mostly  two-year-olds." 

"  They'd  be  worth  more  if  we  could  hold  'em  till 
the  market's  up,  an'  didn't  have  to  turn  'em  into  beef 
as  fast  as  we  get  'em." 

"  By  thunder,  I've  a  notion  to  start  a  nice  little 
herd  o'  my  own.  What  say,  Joe?  Want  to  be  a 
cattle  king?"  The  speaker  chuckled.  His  voice  was 
coarse,  his  chuckle  was  coarse,  and  Phil  instinctively 
shrank  closer  behind  the  log. 

"  Well,  if  we  could  raise  cattle  as  easy  as  we  do 
brands  we'd  be  plumb  rich  by  nex'  Christmas.  What 
you  goin'  to  invent  out  o'  that  Lazy  J  sign?  " 

"  Make  her  over  into  a  Lazy  Eight,  I  reckon." 

"How   'bout  a  PJ like  this?"   spoke  a  third 

man's  voice. 

"  Good." 

"Let's  see,"  asked  a  girl's  voice,  timidly. 

"  You  set  back  there,"  ordered  a  man,  his  voice 
accompanied  by  an  audible  sm.ack  as  of  open  hand 
against  face.     "Yuh  want  to  see  too  much." 

While  the  girl  cried,  in  a  stifled,  convulsive  man- 
ner (Phil's  blood  boiled  to  hear  her),  the  men  con- 
tinued their  talking. 

lo 


PHIL    RUNS    FOR    HIS    LIFE  ii 

"  I  hate  too  many  o'  these  letters.  We've  got  a 
TB  out  o'  them  Bar  B,  yuh  know.  Willin'  to  stick  to 
that,  fer  Bar  B  caows  seem  to  be  the  primest  we  git; 
but  while  the  PJ  is  purty  an'  might  burn  clean,  Lazy 
Eight  strikes  me  as  better." 

"  Jes'  the  same,  we've  a  right  to  the  hull  alphabet, 
same  as  anybody.  An'  ther'  's  nothin'  safe,  no  mat- 
ter how  you  fix  it;  not  even  hides  an'  meat.  I  never 
feel  easy  till  I've  got  rid  o'  the  critters,  horn,  hoof 
an'  tail,  an'  have  the  money  in  my  pocket  an'  am  out 
o'  the  country." 

"That's  right.  There's  nothin'  safe.  Rustlin' 
cows  or  rustlin'  kids." 

These  must  be  thieves,  decided  Phil,  with  quick 
alarm;  cattle  thieves,  perhaps  kidnappers.  What 
should  he  do?  Retreat,  or  lie  still?  He  scarcely 
dared  to  breathe. 

During  these  few  moments  the  sun  had  withdrawn 
entirely,  and  out  of  the  pale  twiHght  was  creeping  a 
chill.  It  was  the  lonesome  hour  when  day  is  merg- 
ing into  night;  when  the  creatures  of  the  light  hasten 
homeward,  and  ere  the  creatures  of  the  darkness 
skulk  forth.  Bacon  was  sizzling  in  a  pan;  the  odor 
tantalized  homeless  Phil's  nostrils.  He  stirred  im- 
pulsively. Under  the  weight  of  his  elbow  a  branch 
sharply  cracked. 

"  Sht !  "  hissed  one  of  the  men. 

There  was  an  instant  of  utter  silence,  while  Phil's 
heart  was  in  his  throat. 

The  men  mumbled  low  and  briefly. 

"  If  it  is  anybody,  git  him  if  yuh  have  to  shoot  his 


12  BAR   B    BOYS 

head  off,"  said  one  of  the  men,  with  an  oath.  "  Can't 
nobody  listen  to  us." 

"Oh,  don't  hurt  him.  Please  don't,"  pleaded  the 
girl,  in  terror. 

"  Shut  up ! "  was  the  growling  response. 

Phil  instantly  was  frigid  with  horror.  They  were 
about  to  search  for  him!  Paralyzed  with  the  thought, 
as  in  a  nightmare,  he  was  unable  to  move.  Then  a 
step  among  the  twigs  of  the  slope,  adown  the  ledge, 
on  his  right,  electrified  him  into  action;  and  like  a 
deer  from  its  covert  he  bounced  all  at  once  to  his  feet 
and  bolted  for  the  left. 

"Hey!     Halt,  you!" 

Wht!  Bang!  First  the  bullet  (it  seemed  to  cut 
just  behind  his  head),  and  closely  following,  the  re- 
port. 

A  hearty  curse,  and — thut!  Bang!  Phil  was 
tearing  through  a  sprinkle  of  cedars  and  the  ball 
buried  itself  in  wood  right  by  his  ear ! 

Again,  and  dried  needles  and  dirt  (Bang!)  flew  in 
a  spurt  so  immediately  before  him  that  at  the  same 
second  his  toe  was  set  into  the  gash! 

But  he  had  crossed  the  cedared  little  ridge  of  which 
the  ledge  was  only  a  continuation,  and  in  momentary 
protection  was  descending  the  farther  side.  The  trees 
were  thicker.  Desperately  he  dodged  among  them, 
to  bury  himself  from  those  ruthless  pursuers. 
Hoarse  voices,  threatening,  angry,  shouted  and  an- 
swered behind  him.  Through  the  dusky,  looming 
timber  he  scurried  with  the  terror  of  any  hunted 
dumb  brute,  until,  legs  and  lungs  "  all  in,"  as  if  seek- 


PHIL    RUNS    FOR    HIS    LIFE  13 

ing  a  hole  he  dived  with  one  last  effort  amidst  the 
dense  low  branches  of  a  spruce.  Here,  in  an  open 
circular  space  around  the  trunk,  concealed  very  clev- 
erly by  the  branches'  tips  which  swept  about,  touching 
the  ground,  he  cowered,  waiting. 

He  heard  footsteps — a  rapid  but  somewhat  irregu- 
lar pace  upon  the  forest  carpeting  of  needles;  and  he 
cowered  more  snugly  still,  while  in  annoying  fashion 
thumpety,  thumpety,  thumpety  resounded  his  heart. 
The  steps  came  nearer,  paused,  went  by;  and  peering 
out  through  a  peep-hole  of  the  spruce  fronds  Phil 
saw,  traversing  a  twilight  spot,  a  man — a  lame  man, 
with  a  long-barreled  revolver  alertly  poised  in  his 
left  hand.  Limping  on  short  leg,  with  a  stealthy 
quickness  and  a  gazing  right  and  left,  he  passed  out  of 
sight.     The  dimness  of  the  forest  swallowed  him, 

Phil  remained  close  in  hiding.  In  the  distance, 
whence  the  lame  man  had  disappeared,  he  heard  next 
a  cautious  "coo-ee,"  as  a  signal.  And  soon  from 
one  side  the  lame  man  and  another  man  carrying  a 
shot-gun  or  rifle  returned,  murmuring  together. 

"  Light  was  so  bad,  or  Fd  a  got  him,''  was  saying 
the  lame  man,  as  they  actually  brushed  the  spruce 
within  whose  circle  Phil  was  crouching.  "  Only  a 
kid,  but  he  has  ears  an'  a  tongue.  He's  a  legal 
witness." 

"  Kin  make  trouble,  all  right,"  agreed  the  other. 

And  they  proceeded  on. 

The  dusk  swiftly  deepened  to  darkness.  Phil 
stayed  beneath  his  spruce.  Cramped  with  hunger 
and  cold  tho'  he  was,  miserable,  scarcely  venturing 


14  BAR   B    BOYS 

to  change  position,  this  was  his  only  haven.  A  wind 
started  up,  and  the  vast  lonely  reaches  of  forest 
soughed  dismally.  An  owl  hooted.  Afar  something 
screamed  like  an  enraged  cat.  Under  the  spruce,  and 
around,  were  little  rustlings  as  amidst  the  dead  nee- 
dles the  wood  mice  played  and  foraged.  Presently, 
while  Phil,  straining  his  ears,  listened  for  each  fresh 
noise  of  the  night,  without  the  spruce  sounded  a 
scratchy  patter,  patter.  It  halted ;  the  branches  beside 
Phil  moved.     Some  animal  was  seeking  entrance. 

"  Get  out ! "  repulsed  Phil,  as  loudly  as  he  dared, 
in  a  spasm  of  fear. 

The  animal  retreated,  patter,  patter.  Hastily  and 
stiffly  straightening,  bumping  his  head  and  scratching 
his  face,  Phil  forced  a  way  upward  among  the  thick 
boughs;  and  six  or  eight  feet  off  the  ground  cowered 
anew. 

The  wind  punished  him,  but  he  felt  safer.  The 
pattering  along  the  ground  persisted.  The  animal 
was  busily  ambulating  hither  and  thither.  Phil 
stared,  but  could  not  see  it.  He  heard  a  rasping,  as 
of  teeth  against  bark.  The  animal  was  gnawing; 
if  it  ate  wood  it  hardly  would  eat  boy,  and  he  was 
reassured. 

His  eyelids  drooped,  and  closed.  He  tried  to  im- 
press upon  himself  that  even  if  he  went  to  sleep  he 
must  hold  fast  to  the  spruce  trunk.  At  a  sudden 
scuffle,  below — a  growl,  a  jump,  a  whine — his  eyes 
flew  open  again.  The  whining  continued,  like  that 
of  a  dog  greedy  or  disappointed.  Two  pale  phos- 
phorescent eyes  looked  up,  through  the  darkness,  at 


PHIL    RUNS    FOR    HIS    LIFE  15 

Phil  looking  down;  the  whine  changed  to  a  snarly 
growl,  and  with  soft,  lithe  pit,  pit,  pit  the  beast 
trotted  away. 

After  an  interval  the  patter,  patter  was  resumed; 
and  it,  also,  withdrew. 

Phil  concluded  that  this  was  a  porcupine,  and  that 
a  wolf  or  coyote  (of  which  he  had  read)  had  pounced 
upon  it  and  been  met  by  its  quills. 

Shuddering  with  the  cold  and  the  hunger  and  the 
fears  brought  by  strange  noises  he  nevertheless  went 
to  sleep,  dozing  uneasily  and  always  hearing  things 
and  seeing  things.  He  was  awakened  by  finding 
himself  with  a  thump  upon  the  ground,  outside  the 
tree.  Terrified  and  confused  he  staggered  to  his  feet ; 
in  the  darkness  he  groped  for  his  eyrie  again.  Fum- 
bling about  him,  once  more  he  wormed  his  way  among 
branches,  until  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  far 
enough.     He  must  sleep. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  next  'twas  to  the  great 
relief  of  dawn.  The  haunted  blackness  had  given 
place  to  all-revealing  grayness.  Where  was  he,  any- 
way? Was  this  the  berth  in  the  sleeper — or  Salt 
Lake — or  what?  How  stiff  and  chilled  he  was!  He 
moved  painfully,  releasing  a  leg;  and  then,  in  a  flash, 
all  recurred  to  him.  He  had  left  the  train — the  train 
had  left  him — he  was  alone  in  the  forest — he  had  lost 
the  railroad  track — men  had  chased  him  and  shot  at 
him — he  had  climbed  this  tree  because  of  animals 
pattering  about  in  the  dark — he — but,  hold  on!  He 
was  not  in  a  tree!  He  was  upon  solid  ground!  He 
felt  of  the  ground,  wonderingly.     It  was  there;  and 


i6  BAR   B    BOYS 

these  twigs?  They  were  the  twigs  of  a  bush,  in  the 
center  of  which  he  was  sitting.  Now  he  recalled:  he 
had  fallen  out  of  the  tree,  and  thinking  that  he  was 
climbing  back  into  it  he  must  have  crawled  into  this 
bush !  And  here  he  had  spent  the  night,  and  nothing 
had  molested  him,  after  all! 

What  time  was  it?  He  believed  that  he  had  for- 
gotten to  wind  his  watch,  but— oh,  thunder;  his 
watch  was  gone!  His  vest  pocket  was  empty,  and 
only  a  short  fragment  of  chain  hung  from  the  but- 
ton-hole. During  his  wild  flight  some  twig  had 
snatched  his  watch  from  him.  That  was  a  bitter  ac- 
cident— to  have  lost  the  little  gold  watch  given  him 
by  his  mother  and  father.  For  an  instant  tears 
rushed  to  his  eyes;  but  he  held  them  back.  There 
was  no  use  in  crying  over  spilled  milk.  He  could 
not  retrace  his  steps  and  find  the  watch. 

His  hat,  also,  was  gone.  Possibly  it  was  in  the 
tree.  He  listened,  wary  of  those  ruffian  men,  those 
bandits  and  cattle-thieves.  Now  was  his  opportunity 
to  escape,  before  they  were  up ;  and  cautiously  emerg- 
ing from  his  bush  he  sought  for  the  spruce.  There 
it  was,  with  the  hat  nicely  balanced  among  the 
branches.  Hastily  he  seized  the  hat,  and  set  off, 
guessing  at  direction. 

His  numerous  wounds  of  scratches,  cuts  and  bruises 
were  sore;  he  hobbled;  he  was  stiff  and  hungry.  He 
could  scarcely  realize  that  it  was  himself,  Phil 
Macowan,  who  was  this  castaway.  Phil  Macowan 
should  be  in  a  comfortable  bed,  and  about  to  get  up 
to  a  civilized  breakfast;  Phil  Macowan  presumably 


PHIL   RUNS    FOR    HIS   LIFE  17 

was  warm  and  clean  and  at  peace.  But  this  wretched 
fugitive,  trudging  forlornly  through  the  gray,  frosty 
woods  of  early  morn,  dinnerless,  supperless  and  break- 
fastless,  his  night's  lodging  a  bush  and  no  succor  in 
sight — who  was  he? 

In  a  patch  of  frost-rimmed  brush  something  large 
moved;  he  stopped  short,  alarmed.  A  cow,  her  calf 
lying  upon  its  four  legs  beside  her,  raised  her  head 
and  surveyed  him.  She  lowered  her  head  and  shook 
her  horns  belligerently,  with  a  snort.  As  Phil  sadly 
circuited  her  (so  far,  in  the  forest,  the  only  friendly 
things  had  been  the  spruce  tree  and  the  bush)  he 
saw  that  there  was  a  big  B,  with  a  straight  mark 
above  it,  upon  her  hip.  In  the  brush  stirred  other 
forms,  which  proved  to  be  more  cattle — some  with 
the  big  B  and  straight  mark,  some  with  a  capital 
J  printed  lying  on  its  back,  so  to  speak,  upon  their 
sides. 

Phil  knew.  It  came  upon  him  with  a  shock — these 
were  the  stolen  cattle.  And  as  if  to  emphasize  the 
fact  and  the  danger,  he  witnessed,  chancing  to  glance 
aside,  beyond  in  the  timber,  where  the  first  rays  of 
the  sun  were  penetrating  aslant,  a  man  on  horseback 
riding  slowly  among  the  trees.  Again  Phil  knew. 
This  was  the  lame  man. 

Instantly  sinking  low  in  the  brush,  stooping,  Phil 
retreated  until  he  struck  a  little  gully;  down  this  he 
fled,  quickening  his  pace  and  every  moment  expecting 
to  be  assailed  with  shout  and  bullet.  The  gully  deep- 
ened to  a  gulch,  with  rocky  bottom  and  sparsely  tim- 
bered slopes;  now  cold  and  dark,  now  warmer  where 


i8  BAR   B    BOYS 

the  sun  was  reaching.     Breathless,  Phil  slackened  to 
a  walk. 

The  gulch  gathered  water,  at  first  in  the  shape  of 
frozen  puddles  held  among  the  boulders,  next  as  a 
casual  stream  gradually  increasing. 

His  feet  blistered,  his  head  strangely  light,  Phil 
halted;  and  with  difficulty  squatting  scooped  water 
from  a  pool,  to  drink  it  and  to  lave  his  face. 

He  was  trying  to  summon  strength  and  courage  to 
stand  again,  when  from  behind  and  near  at  hand  a 
voice  spoke,  evenly: 

"  Hello." 

Phil's  heart  skipped  a  beat.  He  turned  his  head 
quickly.  An  Indian,  in  buckskin  shirt,  leggins  and- 
moccasins,  a  rifle  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  stood 
within  a  few  feet,  looking  at  him. 

Phil  stared.  From  white  outlaws  to  Indian !  What 
a  life  he  was  having! 

"What  you  doing?"  asked  the  Indian  in  plain 
English. 

**  Getting  a  drink,"  stammered  Phil. 

He  would  have  straightened  to  his  feet ;  but  Indian, 
trees,  rocks  swam  and  wavered  before  him,  ^nd 
weakly  he  toppled  over  upon  his  side. 


CHAPTER  III 

PHIL  JOINS  THE  UTES 

When  Phil  reg-ained  consciousness  he  found  him- 
self upon  a  pallet  of  blankets,  underneath  dirty,  slop- 
ing canvas.  The  place  was  circular,  and  although 
where  the  canvas  came  to  a  peak,  in  the  center,  a  hole 
was  open,  as  if  for  ventilation,  it  (the  place)  did  not 
smell  extra  sweet. 

As  he  lay  on  his  back,  gazing  languidly  and  col- 
lecting his  thoughts,  somebody  entered  through  the 
doorway.  A  squaw  in  soiled  draggled  calico  squatted 
beside  him,  and  grinning  in  wide  and  toothless,  but 
friendly  fashion,  extended  a  bowl  which  steamed. 

"  Good,"  she  said.     "  Good " 

The  interior  atmosphere  was,  as  said,  not  very 
sweet;  the  old  squaw  was  decidedly  not  sweet;  but 
the  steam  from  the  bowl  was  the  sweetest  thing  that 
Phil  had  encountered  in  all  his  life — so  rich,  so 
fragrant,  so  appealing  it  was,  so  perfect  to  his  fam- 
ished palate.  And  with  his  two  trembly  hands  eagerly 
grasping  the  vessel  he  sucked,  regardless  of  table 
etiquette,  at  the  contents. 

"  Ah ! "  He  felt  new  life  coursing  through  his 
veins.  Dog,  rat,  deer,  bear,  whatever  it  was  he  did 
not  care ;  that  broth  was  good, 

"  More,"  he  gasped. 

19 


20  BAR   B    BOYS 

The  old  squaw  took  the  bowl  and  shuffled  out 
with  it. 

"No.  Mebbe  un  hora"  (an  hour),  she  delivered, 
over  her  shoulder.     "  No  now.     Makee  malo"  (sick). 

Phil  lay  back  in  blissful  peace,  the  fluid  warm 
within  him.  His  captors  might  be  playing  the  part 
of  host  simply  to  keep  him  strong  for  the  torture, 
but  at  least  he  had  the  broth! 

A  voice  spoke  briefly  without,  asking  a  question, 
and  was  answered.  Another  figure  entered  the  tepee 
tent,  to  halt  beside  Phil's  couch.  Staring  up,  Phil 
recognized  the  Indian  who  had  come  upon  him  in 
the  gulch. 

"Feeling  better?"  inquired  the  Indian,  with  a 
smile,  showing  sound  white  teeth.  He  was  a  young 
man,  with  broad  swart  face. 

"Yes.  Had  something  to  eat.  What'd  I  do — 
faint  ? "  responded  Phil,  now  more  courageous,  and 
smiling  back. 

"  Yes.     Want  to  get  up  ?    We're  going." 

Phil  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  stood  unsteadily. 
But  in  a  moment  he  was  quite  strong.  The  broth  had 
helped  him  wonderfully. 

"  Come  out,"  bade  the  Indian. 

Phil  followed  him  into  the  open  air  and  across  a 
grassy  little  flat  formed  by  the  juncture  of  two 
gulches.  The  flat  was  occupied  by  a  score  of  Indians 
old  and  young,  their  horses,  dogs  and  camp  belong- 
ings. Fires  smouldered,  where  tepees  had  been 
located;  but  the  camp  already  was  broken.  Squaws, 
busy    with    packing   and    lashing,    glanced    at    Phil 


PHIL  JOINS    THE   UTES  21 

askance  as  he  passed ;  lounging  bucks  looked  upon  him 
stoHdly;  dogs  growled,  and  children  dodged  before 
him  or  ran  after,  hooting  gleefully.  As  comported  a 
prisoner,  Phil  endeavored  to  bear  himself  with  no 
sign  of  emotion — for  this,  as  all  know  who  have  read 
Indian  stories,  is  the  proper  way. 

Phil's  guide,  who  had  proceeded  silently,  with 
straight,  free  stride,  rifle  in  hollow  of  left  arm,  halted 
before  an  old  Indian  sitting  upon  his  hams  upon 
the  ground  and  smoking  a  short  black  pipe.  In  one 
hand  he  held  the  rope  of  his  pony.  He  had  on  a 
dusty,  stained  black  slouch  hat,  with  a  feather  stuck 
through  the  crown,  and  wore  a  grimy  calico  shirt, 
equally  grimy  trousers,  and  moccasins.  A  well-filled 
cartridge-belt  was  around  his  waist.  He  was  enor- 
mously fat,  and  his  countenance  was  large,  flabby, 
and  almost  as  dark  as  any  negro's.  But  despite  its 
flabbiness,  about  it  was  a  certain  dignity  mingled  with 
cunning;  and  the  mouth  was  a  thin  firm  line. 

The  young  man  addressed  him ;  they  spoke  together 
gutturally  but  not  unmusically. 

"This  is  my  father.  He  is  chief,"  explained  the 
younger  Indian,  to  Phil. 

Without  moving  otherwise  the  chief  proffered  his 
hand. 

"How  do?"  he  said,  ",Wueno.  Muncho  amigo, 
hey?" 

Phil  shook  hands. 

"  He  doesn't  speak  English,"  explained  further  the 
young  Indian.  "  He  says  you  can  come  along  with 
us  and  we'll  leave  you  somewhere." 


22  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  All  right,"  assented  Phil,  his  scalp  tighter  upon 
his  head.  Of  course  they  might  mean  to  leave  him 
somewhere  dead,  but  he  would  make  the  best  that  he 
could  out  of  the  words. 

"  I'll  get  you  a  horse."  And  laying  his  rifle  by  the 
chief  the  younger  Indian  strode  off. 

The  chief  grinned  up  at  Phil,  and  spoke  to  some 
length.     Phil  shook  his  head. 

"  Can't  understand,"  he  informed. 

The  chief  spoke  some  more,  and  gestured.  Phil 
interpreted  the  motion,  and  with  a  polite  "  Thank 
you,"  sat  down. 

The  chief,  as  if  doing  the  honors,  murmured  and 
gurgled  and  grunted  in  his  strange  language — he 
seemed  very  good-natured  and  loquacious  for  an 
Indian — and  the  younger  man,  his  son,  arriving  lead- 
ing along  a  buckskin  pony,  listened  respectfully. 

"He  says  to  rub  bear's  fat  on  your  hurts.  I'll 
give  you  some.  You  can  ride  this  horse.  It'll  fol- 
low." 

The  chief  now,  with  a  wheezy  grunt,  stood — a 
well-paunched,  heavy  figure,  straddle-kneed.  Lift- 
ing his  voice  he  shouted  a  signal.  Instantly  the  camp 
was  in  an  uproar — squaws  screeching,  children 
screaming,  dogs  barking;  and  in  the  midst  of  it  the 
chief  with  dignity  waddling  to  his  pony,  swung  on. 

"  We  go  now,"  acquainted  the  younger  Indian. 

Phil  clambered  aboard  his  bareback  buckskin, 
whose  bridle  was  a  single  rawhide  thong  looped  about 
the  lower  jaw.  The  old  chief,  without  a  glance  be- 
hind, rode  away  at  a  walk.     Phil's  pony  followed,  as 


PHIL  JOINS    THE   UTES  23 

a  matter  of  course.  Looking  behind  him  Phil  saw 
that  the  tepee  which  had  shehered  him  had  vanished, 
and  that  the  whole  camp  was  stringing  out  and  fall- 
ing into  line.  The  young  man  who  had  been  his 
counselor  came  galloping  up  and  stopped  beside  him, 
to  ride  gravely,  without  a  word.  He  carried  his 
rifle  across  his  lap,  at  the  pommel  of  his  saddle;  the 
chief's  rifle  was  in  a  scabbard,  beneath  the  chief's 
leg. 

The  route  ascended  the  northward  opening  gulch, 
through  pleasant  sage  and  quaking  aspen,  and  soon 
obliqued  up  the  gulch's  side.  Here  at  the  top  lay 
spread  before  a  long  expanse  of  level  sage  with  now 
and  then  a  low  pinon  or  cedar.  Straight  across  it 
jogged  the  old  chief.  Evidently  he  knew  where  he 
was  going.     But  trail  there  was  none. 

The  sun  was  hot ;  the  motion  of  the  pony  although 
easy  was  constant ;  the  effect  of  the  broth  was  wearing 
off,  and  all  in  all  the  combination  made  Phil  dizzy. 
The  Indian  beside  him  stopped  abruptly,  and  waited 
while  the  cavalcade  passed.  In  a  minute  he  galloped 
up  again  and  handed  Phil  a  canteen. 

"Drink,"  he  bade. 

Phil  gladly  obeyed.  The  tepid  water  gurgled  down 
his  throat. 

"Thanks,"  he  gasped. 

"Eat.  Chew  it  well,  though,"  bade  the  Indian, 
next. 

Phil  accepted  what  resembled  strips  of  dirty  leather, 
and  rather  dubiously  examined  them.  He  did  not 
wish  to  give  offense,  but 


24  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  Dried  beef.  Not  store  dried  beef,  but  what  we 
call  jerked  beef.     It's  all  right,"  assured  the  Indian. 

Phil,  chewing  faithfully  upon  an  end,  found  it 
saltless  but  not  unpalatable.     He  began  to  feel  better. 

On  and  on  and  on  jogged  the  fat  old  chief,  glancing 
scarcely  to  right  nor  left,  much  less  behind.  He 
ieemed  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  condition  of  his 
charges,  who  might  follow  or  fall  out.  Across  the 
sagy,  hot  plateau  the  course  dropped  into  a  draw 
rimmed  by  cedars.  The  bottom  of  the  draw  was 
traversed  by  a  cattle  trail,  and  Phil  was  congratulat- 
ing himself  that  they  were  approaching  white  habi- 
tation when  the  old  chief  turned  off  the  trail  and 
climbed  the  farther  slope,  to  enter  another  stretch  of 
plateau  covered  with  the  eternal  sage  under  the 
cloudless  blue. 

On  and  on  and  on  jogged  the  chief,  never  hesitat- 
ing nor  looking  about.  On  and  on  followed  the 
cavalcade,  ever  northward  and  westward,  through 
draw  after  draw  and  across  flat  after  flat,  deeper 
into  the  wilds.  And  Phil's  heart  sank.  Was  he 
never  to  get  a  word  to  his  mother  and  father?  Were 
these  Indians  never  to  halt  to  lunch  and  rest?  Was 
he  wearing  the  pony's  back  as  badly  as  the  pony's 
back  was  wearing  him?    He  hoped  not. 

They  were  threading  a  draw  wide  and  sagy  and 
sun-drenched  and  dry  when  suddenly  the  old  chief 
with  a  grunt  changed  direction  and  kicking  his  pony 
in  the  ribs  with  both  heels  broke  at  a  trot  for  the 
right-hand  slope.  At  a  trot  followed  the  cavalcade 
all.     Phil,  bounced  uncomfortably  upon  the  buckskin's 


PHIL  JOINS    THE   UTES  25 

slippery  back,  and  hanging  for  security  to  the  long 
mane,  was  astonished  and  annoyed. 

Then  quite  by  accident  he  descried  two  figures — 
horsemen — far  off  and  just  commencing  the  descent 
of  the  left-hand  slope.  Evidently  the  old  chief  was 
trying  to  avoid  them. 

Up  the  right-hand  flank  pressed  the  chief,  urging 
his  laboring  pony  through  brush  and  scrub-oak,  re- 
gardless; up  the  right-hand  flank  pressed  all;  and 
now  they  went  streaming  through  the  close  cedars 
on  top,  the  chief's  heels  beating  an  incessant  tattoo 
upon  his  pony's  sides,  his  elbows  flapping,  his  whole 
mien  betokening  a  desire  for  speed. 

Carried  along,  willy-nilly,  hanging  for  dear  life 
to  the  buckskin's  mane  and  constantly  ducking  to 
dodge  branches,  jolted  almost  out  of  his  seven  senses, 
Phil  had  no  time  to  question  or  protest.  But  the 
old  chief  certainly  was  running  away  with  him. 

They  left  the  cedars  behind  and  proceeded  at  the 
rapid  excruciating  trot  across  a  flowery  park. 

Now  more  frantically  beat  the  old  chiefs  mocca- 
sined  heels,  and  more  wildly  flopped  his  elbows.  Phil 
looked  for  the  fresh  occasion.  From  the  timber  at  one 
side  two  horsemen  had  again  appeared,  and  at  a 
gallop  were  sweeping  obliquely  through  the  park,  to 
intercept  them.  The  old  chief's  heels  and  elbows 
worked  in  vain,  for  the  intruders  converged  upon 
him  rapidly;  and  just  at  the  edge  of  the  park,  with 
jingle  of  spurs  and  of  bridle  and  rasp  of  leather,  cut 
in  ahead,  to  halt. 

Venting  a  single  grunt  of  disgust  and  resignation. 


26  BAR   B    BOYS 

the  fat  chief  reined  his  pony  abruptly,  and  halted, 
too.     The  cavalcade  halted. 

They  were  cowboys,  these  two.  One,  in  shaggy 
white  leggings  (or  chaps)  reaching  to  the  hip  and 
checked  blue  jumper,  was  no  older  than  Phil.  The 
other  might  have  been  the  father.  He  wore  chaps  of 
plain  leather,  and  was  in  vest  and  shirt-sleeves.  Their 
horses  were  wet  and  heaving,  and  they  themselves, 
particularly  the  man,  looked  angry. 

"Hello,  Billy.  What's  your  hurry?"  addressed 
the  man. 

"  H'lo,"  grunted  the  chief. 

He  shook  hands  with  the  two.  His  pony  fell  to 
cropping  grass. 

"  Hello,  Charley." 

The  two  and  PhiFs  Indian  shook  hands.  They 
surveyed  Phil — the  boy  roundly,  the  man  keenly  out 
of  lean  brown  face  and  steady  blue  eyes  weathered 
about  with  a  mesh  of  wrinkles.  His  chin  was  square, 
his  cheek-bones  high,  his  nose  a  bit  aquiline,  his 
graying  mustache  heavy  and  long  and  balanced  by 
a  small  stiff  goatee.  Altogether  he  appeared  to  Phil 
as  a  personage  of  experience  and  decision,  who  could 
hold  his  own. 

"Going  far?" 

"  Uintah,"  responded  the  Charley  Indian,  stolidly. 

The  old  chief  spoke  in  Indian,  impatiently,  and 
jerked  up  his  pony's  head  as  if  to  start. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Charley.  "  You  must  excuse  us. 
We're  in  a  hurry." 

"Wait  a  minute.     I  see  you  are,"  protested  the 


PHIL  JOINS    THE   UTES  27 

man,  not  budging  from  the  path.  "Who's  the  boy 
you  got  there  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  G'by,"  interrupted  the  chief,  testily. 
He  again  spoke  in  Indian,  and  with  a  kick  of  the 
heels  urged  his  pony  forward. 

"  My  father  says  we  have  no  time  to  talk,"  ex- 
plained the  Charley  Indian. 

"Oh,  haven't  yuh?"  remarked  the  man,  coolly. 
"What  are  these  Injuns  doing  with  you,  son?"  he 
asked,  of  Phil. 

"  I  was  lost  and  they  found  me,  that's  all,"  an- 
swered Phil. 

"You'd  better  come  with  us,  then.  They'll  take 
you  clean  into  Utah." 

"  No,  no!  "  objected  the  old  chief,  now  thoroughly 
mad.  He  spoke  vehemently,  and  gestured.  The  man 
replied,  in  Mexican,  and  they  argued. 

"  Come  along  with  us  to  the  ranch,"  urged  the  boy, 
to  Phil,  in  friendly  eagerness.  "  It's  the  Bar  B,  on 
Owl  Creek.    Do  your  folks  know  where  you  are?" 

"No.  I  wish  they  did,"  said  Phil,  dejected.  "Can 
I  get  word  to  them  quick  from  your  place?" 

"  Sure.  The  stage  station  is  only  twentyr-4ive 
miles.  I  can  ride  that  easy  in  two  hours  and  a  half. 
It's  most  all  level." 

"  Better  not  talk  to  him.  My  father  won't  like 
it,"  interposed  the  Charley  Indian. 

"  Talk  as  much  as  you  please,  Chet,"  directed  the 
man,  breaking  off  his  dispute  with  the  chief.  "  No 
Injun  on  earth  shall  say  what  you  or  I  shall  do. 
Well,  boy,  are  you  coming  with  us?    We're  white." 


28  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  Fd  like  to/'  faltered  Phil.  He  hated  to  make 
trouble,  however. 

"  That's  enough,  then.     Get  off  your  hawss." 

"  No,  no,"  snarled  the  old  chief.  He  hammered 
his  pony  and  thrust  it  between,  and  glared  menac- 
ingly. His  flabby  face  was  full  of  venom,  and  darker 
than  ever.  His  son  ranged  beside  him ;  from  the  rear 
hastened  up  the  other  bucks  of  the  band,  crowding 
and  jostling  forward,  foreseeing  trouble  and  ready  to 
be  into  it.  The  majority  had  rifles;  two  even  had 
bows  and  arrows — the  bows  strung. 

The  boy  and  man  sat  without  giving  way  an 
inch — the  former  pale  beneath  his  tan,  the  latter 
stern,  with  eyes  beginning  to  glint  significantly. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PHIL  JOINS  THE  COWBOYS 

There  was  a  sudden  jingle  and  scuff,  and  thud  of 
hoof,  and  from  the  cedars  close  at  hand  burst  two 
more  cowboys.  Their  horses  were  blowing,  hard 
ridden.  The  riders,  in  chaps  and  blouses  and  broad 
high  black  hats,  peered  intently. 

"How,"  they  said,  laconically.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter, George?" 

One  was  a  young,  smooth-faced  chap,  a  mere 
stripling;  the  other  was  somewhat  older,  bulky  and 
square,  with  gray  eyes  and  crisp,  sandy  mustache. 

**Why,  these  Injuns  have  picked  up  a  white  boy 
and  are  set  on  carrying  him  on  with  'em.  We  think 
we'll  take  him  back  to  the  ranch,  though." 

"How'd  they  get  him?" 

"  He  was  lost,  I  hear." 

The  new-comers  eyed  Phil,  in  the  midst  of  the 
Indians. 

"Huh!  Who  objects?  What  ails  your  old  man, 
Charley?" 

"  We  keep  him  with  us,  says  my  father,"  answered 
the  Indian,  doggedly. 

"  You  don't  keep  him,"  returned  the  man  with  the 
goatee.  "  And  the  quicker  you  savvy  that,  all  of  you, 
the  better  for  yuh.  Get  off  your  hawss,  boy,  and 
climb  on  behind  Chet  here." 

29 


30  BAR   B    BOYS 

But  Phil  was  helpless. 

"  No  talkee ;  no  talkee  !  Vamose  !  Puk-a-chee  !  " 
(Get  out!)  snarled  the  old  chief.  He  whipped  his 
rifle  from  its  scabbard — but  so  swiftly  that  Phil's  eye 
had  been  unable  to  follow  the  smooth-faced  stripling 
cowboy  had  plucked  from  some  place  an  automatic 
pistol,  and  with  a  jump  of  his  horse  was  holding; 
the  gun  against  the  chief's  side.  At  the  same  instant, 
almost,  Chet,  of  the  shaggy  white  chaps,  spurred 
boldly  in  and  shouldering  a  passage  to  Phil  seized  the 
buckskin's  thong,  at  the  jaw. 

**  Don't  you  be  scared.  We  can  lick  'em,"  he  said 
to  Phil,  reassuringly. 

The  uproar  of  excitement  which  had  swelled  sub- 
sided immediately,  for  the  smooth-faced  cowboy  was 
speaking. 

"  By  thunder,  you  move  that  rifle  an  inch  an'  you're 
a  good  Injun,"  he  panted.  "Don't  you  go  fingerin' 
yore  gun,  either,  Charley.  When  this  little  Colt's 
automatic  starts  to  shootin'  she  don't  stop." 

"  Steady,  steady,"  cautioned  the  man  with  the 
goatee.  "  Keep  him  covered,  Dick,  but  don't  jam  it 
through  his  ribs ! "  And  he  talked  earnestly  to  the 
chief,  who  sat  glowering  but  motionless.  Then  he 
addressed  the  younger  Indian. 

"  You  hear  what  I  say.  Mebbe  you  can  take  the 
boy,  and  mebbe  you  can't.  But  if  it  comes  to  a  gun- 
play and  you  do  get  off  with  him,  what's  left  o'  yuh, 
there'll  be  whites  enough  to  follow  you  and  head  you 
off  before  you  get  very  far;  and  when  they  get  you 
they  won't  waste  much    time    pow-wowing.       You 


PHIL  JOINS    THE   COWBOYS  31 

might  just  as  well  make  up  your  minds  to  it.  And 
now  if  you  want  to  start  the  trouble,  move  along 
and  try  to  take  the  boy." 

"Don't  yuh  wiggle!  Don't  yuh  bat  an  eye!" 
warned  the  smooth-faced  cowboy  guarding  the  chief. 
**  If  yuh  do  I'll  fill  yuh  so  full  of  holes  yuh  won't 
cast  a  shadow !  " 

"  Scalp  him  alive,  Dick,"  applauded  the  other  cow- 
boy, Dick's  companion. 

The  chief,  betraying  no  fear,  but  very  careful  of 
himself,  spoke  a  guttural  sentence. 

"  He  says  you  can  have  the  boy,  if  he  wants  to  go," 
interpreted  the  son. 

"  He  does  want  to  go — and  he  goes  anyway,"  re- 
torted the  man  with  the  goatee.  "  We'll  take  the 
responsibility.  You  can  swap  hawsses,  boy.  I  see 
Chet's  right  on  deck,  waiting  for  you." 

Much  relieved,  Phil  tumbled  from  the  buckskin 
and  stiffly  established  himself  behind  Chet's  shaggy 
chaps. 

"Take  your  gun  off  him,  Dick,"  laughed  the  cow- 
boy of  the  bulky,  square  frame. 

And  Dick,  with  some  reluctance,  withdrew  the  auto- 
matic— however,  keeping  it  in  sight. 

The  old  chief  broke  into  a  torrent  of  expostulation. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  "  wondered  Phil. 

"He  says  to  give  him  some  money  for  you.  Got 
to  pay  your  board  bill  'fore  you  leave,"  informed  the 
bulky  cowboy. 

"Money  be  hanged.  Come  on,  boys,"  ejaculated 
the  man  with  the  goatee,  shortly. 


32  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  ril  give  him  half  a  dollar,"  volunteered  Phil ;  add- 
ing, wisely,  "  if  I've  got  it." 

"  All  right.     Give  it  to  him,  just  as  you  please." 

Phil  found  a  half-dollar  in  his  pocket,  and  extended 
it. 

The  old  chief  took  it,  and  examined  it  contempt- 
uously. 

"  No,  no !     Un  peso.     One  dollie,"  he  vociferated. 

"  A  dollar.     He  wants  a  dollar,"  translated  Chet. 

Phil  found  a  quarter  more. 

"That's  all  I  have,"  he  said — for  only  some  bills 
remained,  and  he  thought  it  best  not  to  speak  of  them 
at  present. 

**  It's  plenty — and  six  bits  more  than  he  deserves," 
declared  the  man  with  the  goatee,  impatiently. 
*'  Puk-a-chee,  now ;  all  of  you.     Adios." 

Adios;  adios.  Good  boy,"  mumbled  the  old  chief, 
who  suddenly  appeared  quite  satisfied  again.  He  in- 
sisted upon  shaking  Phil's  hand,  and  the  hand  of 
everybody  within  reach — except  that  of  Dick.  At 
Dick  he  fiercely  scowled.  The  ceremony  finished, 
clapping  his  pony  in  the  ribs  he  started  with  dignity 
onward,  and  his  band  followed. 

The  cowboys,  waiting,  let  the  cavalcade,  as  it  fell 
into  place,  pass.  Not  an  Indian  glanced  aside;  each 
rode  with  face  straight  before,  set  like  granite.  But  in 
the  eyes  fire  smouldered.  The  last  of  them  presently 
was  lost  among  the  cedars. 

However,  not  absolutely ;  for  at  the  moment  one  of 
them  came  riding  back.  It  was  Charley,  the  chief's 
son. 


PHIL   JOINS    THE   COWBOYS  33 

"  Here,"  he  said  to  Phil,  placing  something  in  his 
hand ;  and  wheeling,  with  no  word  nor  glance  for  any- 
one else,  he  was  away  again. 

Phil  examined  the  article.  It  was  a  small  bag  of 
buckskin,  curiously  beaded,  and  very  greasy  from 
viscid  contents. 

"  Well,  boy,  you  nearly  were  sole  survivor  of  a 
fust-class  Injun  massacre,"  remarked  the  man  of  the 
goatee.    *'Now  tell  us  about  yourself." 

Phil  told.  They  all  agreed  that  where  he  had  left 
the  train,  or  the  train  had  left  him,  was  forty  miles 
away,  south.  The  incident  of  the  men  whom  he  had 
overheard  talking,  and  who  had  chased  him,  interested 
them  greatly. 

"  Thejr  spoke  of  Bar  B  and  Lazy  J  cows,  'specially, 
did  they?"  mused  the  man  with  the  goatee.  "That 
comes  near  home — doesn't  it,  Henry  ?  " 

"  Explains  a  few  things,  I  reckon,"  commented 
the  bulky  man. 

"  My  father  owns  the  Bar  B  cattle,  and  those  other 
men  are  Dick  Vorum  and  Henry  Mallison,  of  the  Lazy 
J,"  explained  Chet.  ''  My  name's  Chester  Simms, 
and  my  father  is  George  Simms.  We  run  the  most 
cattle  of  anybody." 

He  seemed  a  good-natured,  impulsive  chap,  did 
Chet.  He  was  chunky,  with  light  hair  and  wide  blue 
eyes,  round  freckled  face  darker  with  its  tan  than 
his  hair,  and  mouth  that  turned  up  at  the  corners 
like  a  gnome's  or  brownie's.     Phil  liked  him 

By  the  conversation  of  the  men  among  themselves, 
'twas  apparent  that  they  believed  the  party  encoun- 


34  BAR  B    BOYS 

tered  the  night  before  by  Phil  to  be  thieves  or  "rus- 
tlers "  in  merely  a  small  way but  nevertheless  in  a 

way  most  annoying,  probably  collecting  a  few  cattle 
at  a  time,  selling  the  meat  direct  to  butchers  and 
doubtless  disposing  of  the  hides  separately,  with  the 
brands  altered  to  block  detection.  They  were  a 
menace;  and  Phil  very  readily  understood  that  if 
caught  they  would  receive  short  shift.  And  as  to  the 
girl,  they  must  have  stolen  her,  also ! 

"  Did  you  see  any  Bar  B  cows,  or  Lazy  J's,  over 
that  way?"  queried  Mr.  Simms. 

Phil  recollected  those  cattle  of  the  early  morning, 
with  a  capital  B  and  straight  mark  above  it  ("That's 
a  Bar  B!")  and  a  J  lying  on  its  back  ("That's  a 
Lazy  J! ")  ;  and  the  man  of  the  revolver  riding  near 
them. 

*'  You  say  he  was  running  'round,  when  he  looked 
for  you,  carrying  a  revolver  in  his  left  hand?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"That'll  spot  him.  He's  a  left-handed  shooter," 
exclaimed  the  cowboy  Dick. 

"  He  limps,  too,"  reminded  Phil. 

"  Well,  we'll  go  on  down  to  the  Lazy  J  camp  and 
have  dinner;  then  Chet  and  I'll  take  the  boy  on  to 
the  Bar  B,"  proposed  Mr.  Simms. 

They  rode  leisurely,  descending  to  the  lower  coun- 
try. 

**iWhere's  your  home,  son?"  inquired  Mr.  Simms. 

Phil  told  him. 

"Is  your  father  K.   P.   Macowan?" 

**No,  sir.     He's  my  uncle." 


PHIL   JOINS    THE   COWBOYS  33 

"  Jus'  so.  Well,  instead  of  going  on  to  California 
you  stay  at  the  Bar  B  and  let  Chet  show  you  the 
country  and  a  good  time.  You  write  your  father  and 
tell  him  I'm  the  man  your  uncle  camped  with  two 
years  ago,  when  he  was  out  here  hunting  and  we  were 
on  the  beef  roundup.  Your  uncle  will  remember. 
Say  you're  at  the  Simms  ranch — George  Simms' ;  and 
that  if  you  stay  long  enough  we'll  make  a  cowman 
of  you.  It'll  do  you  more  good  than  all  California 
put  together.     What  do  you  think,  Chet  ?  " 

"  Will  you  ?  "  urged  Chet,  turning  eagerly  in  the 
saddle. 

"  I'll  write  and  see."     Phil's  tired  eyes  brightened. 

"  Do  it,"  continued  Mr.  Simms.  "  And  I'll  add  a 
line,  and  send  the  letter  in  to-morrow,  to  catch  the 
stage.  You'll  have  a  week,  anyway,  before  the  answer 
comes.    Do  you  want  to  be  a  cowboy  for  a  while  ?  " 

Phil  nodded. 

"  Sure.  Stay  and  we'll  all  show  you  the  country. 
By  the  time  you  get  out  you  can  throw  a  rope  and 
wrestle  a  calf  with  anybody,"  encouraged  the  cow- 
boy Henry. 

"  First  I'll  outfit  him  with  some  of  Chet's  clothes," 
remarked  Mr.  Simms,  quizzically.  "  He's  worse  than 
a  sheep-herder.  Looks  as  though  he  hadn't  drawn 
pay  for  a  year." 

**Must  have  left  a  trail  of  himself  on  the  trees  an' 
bushes  all  those  forty  mile,"  alleged  Dick. 

And  Phil  blushed.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  must 
indeed  be  a  "sight,"  for  he  had  travelled  a  hard 
road.     If  only  they  realized  how  hard! 


36  BAR   B    BOYS 

"What  were  those  Indians  going  to  do  with  me, 
do  you  think  ? ''  he  asked  Chet. 

"  Aw,  nothing  much.  They're  just  some  of  the 
Southern  Utes  going  up  to  visit  the  other  Utes  on 
the  Uintah  reservation  over  in  Utah.  That  was  Cap- 
tain Billy  the  chief.  I  guess  he  thought  he'd  hold 
you  and  get  a  lot  of  money.  He's  all  right  when  he 
isn't  feeling  mean.  I  bet,  though,  they  wouldn't  have 
given  in  so  easy  if  they'd  been  a  war  party.  But 
they  had  their  squaws  along." 

"  That  Indian  you  called  Charley  talks  English ! " 

"  He's  Captain  Billy's  son — Charley  Pow-wow. 
He  can  talk  as  well  as  you  or  I.  He's  been  away  to 
school,  out  East.  But  sometimes  you  wouldn't  think 
it." 

**Look  what  he  gave  me."  And  Phil  showed  the 
little  beaded  buckskin  sack. 

"What's  in  it?" 

"  Bear-grease  to  rub  on  my  scratches." 

"  Good.  Bear  fat's  fine,  they  say.  The  Indians 
all  use  it.  You  can  rub  it  on  yourself  to-night.  And 
that's  a  dandy  little  sack." 

"Lose  yore  watch?"  queried  the  cowboy  Dick, 
noting  the  fragment  of  chain. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

**  Oh,  well,"  spoke  Mr.  Simms,  "  you  won't  need 
a  watch  out  here.  We  get  up  when  it's  light  and  go 
to  bed  when  it's  dark,  and  eat  when  we  can.  Day 
isn't  divided  into  hours,  for  us.  It's  all  one.  Have 
a  clock  at  the  ranch,  and  set  it  by  the  almanac.  But 
mostly  we  forget  to  wind  it." 


CHAPTER  V 

AT  THE  BAR  B  RANCH 

Beneath  his  covering  of  blankets  and  quilts  Phil 
awoke  with  a  start,  and  blinked  about  him.  Over- 
head was  a  ceiling  of  whitey  muslin  stained  with 
brown  blotches  where  the  mud  from  the  sod  roof  had 
soaked  through  during  rains.  Around  were  walls  of 
rough  logs,  their  adobe  chinking  protruding,  hard  as 
brick,  within.  From  pegs  here  and  there  hung  old 
blouses,  an  old  coat  of  black  dog-skin,  a  pair  of  worn 
leather  chaps,  a  cartridge-belt  empty,  a  battered  black 
slouch  hat,  a  frayed,  stubby  quirt ;  while  a  shelf  at  the 
foot  of  the  cot  held  a  half  score  of  ragged  magazines 
and  paper  novels,  a  box  of  rifle  cartridges,  a  bottle  of 
pain-killer,  a  spur  with  rowel  missing.  Through  the 
glassless  window,  whose  wooden  shutter  was  swung 
wide  back,  streamed  daylight  and  fresh  cool  air.  From 
the  other  room,  beyond  the  half-closed  plank  door, 
emanated  voices,  stamping,  and  yawns. 

Oh,  yes;  Phil  recollected.  This  was  the  bunk- 
house  of  the  Bar  B  cattle  ranch,  where  he  had  been 
put  to  sleep  with  the  "  other "  cowboys.  For  if  he 
was  to  be  a  cowboy  he  must  sleep  in  the  bunk-house, 
had  said  Mr.  Simms.  And,  anyway,  this  was  the 
only  place  for  him  to  sleep,  considering  that  Mr. 
Simms  and  Chet  occupied  the  one  real  bed  of  the 
ranch,  and  Old  Jess,  who  was  temporary  cook  and 

37 


38  BAR   B    BOYS 

was  more  or  less  cranky,  occupied  the  shake-down 
in  the  kitchen. 

The  voices  in  the  other  room,  amidst  stamping  of 
boots  and  repeated  yawns,  were  discussing  dreams. 
Phil  could  easily  recognize  the  smooth  drawl  of 
Haney,  the  tall  red-headed  cowboy  from  Texas,  the 
more  precise  accents  of  Mr.  Dexter  (whom  all  called 
Ford),  the  good-looking  cowboy  said  to  be  from  Bos- 
ton and  Harvard,  and  the  curter  speech  of  Buster,  na- 
tive Coloradoan. 

Next  somebody  trudged  forth,  to  stick  a  genial, 
freckled  countenance,  beneath  thatch  of  brick-colored 
hair  topped  by  broad-brimmed,  high-crowned,  black 
hat,  in  through  the  window  beside  Phil's  cot. 

**  Howdy.  Goin'  to  get  up  this  mohnin'  ?  "  he  re- 
marked, surveying  Phil  quizzically.  It  was  Haney, 
the  red-headed  cowboy  from  Texas. 

"  Getting  up  now,"  responded  Phil,  throwing  back 
the  coverings  and  springing  out. 

"  Didn't  know  but  what  you'd  laik  to  have  youah 
breakfas'  fetched  in  to  yuh,"  he  asserted,  and  disap- 
peared. 

The  boot  stamping  in  the  other  room  was  renewed, 
and  Phil,  already  wearing  a  shirt  of  Chet's,  hastened 
his  donning  of  Chet's  stockings  and  Mr.  Dexter's 
trousers  and  Mr.  Simms'  shoes  and  somebody's  old 
blouse.  He  yawned  tremendously;  the  lacing  of  his 
left  shoe  jammed  under  his  watery  eyes.  Yah-hum. 
— how  he  had  slept!  And  how  much  better  he  felt. 
The  night's  rest  and  the  bear's  grease  had  worked 
wonders. 

But  he  was  spurred  to  action  again  by  another 


AT   THE    BAR    B    RANCH  39 

visitor.  The  round,  brown  face  of  Chet  looked  in 
upon  him  unceremoniously  through  the  convenient 
window.  Apprised  by  the  darkening  of  his  light, 
Phil  glanced  behind  him. 

"  Hello,"  he  said. 

"  Getting  up  ?  "  asked  Chet,  grinning. 

"Be  out  in  a  jiffy.  Is  breakfast  ready?"  inquired 
Phil  anxiously. 

"Pretty  near." 

"  Don't  wait  for  me.  I'll  be  right  there,"  informed 
Phil. 

"Aw,  they  won't  wait,"  assured  Chet,  grinning 
again.  "  Haney's  gone  to  get  the  horses,  tho',  and 
he'll  be  back  quick  if  he  finds  them  easy." 

Phil  wrestled  into  his  coat,  seized  his  hat  and  hur- 
ried forth  from  the  little  store-room  where  he  had 
passed  the  night.  In  the  other,  the  main  room  of  the 
bunk-house,  Mr.  Dexter,  now  clad  with  high-heeled 
boots,  faded  blue  overalls  and  big  hat  similar  to 
Haney's,  only  drab,  sitting  alone  upon  the  edge  of 
a  tumbled  bunk,  was  laboriously  sewing  a  button  to 
his  checkered  blouse. 

''  Well,  up  for  all  day?  "  he  greeted.  " Ouch ! "  he 
added.  He  examined  his  thumb,  ruefully,  and 
sucked  it. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  declared  Phil,  emphatically. 

He  liked  Mr.  Dexter  (or  Ford),  who  was  the  best- 
looking  of  the  cowboys  yet  seen,  with  regular,  clean- 
cut  features,  dark  eyes  and  hair,  crisp  mustache  and 
white  teeth  and  firm  chin.  Chet  had  said  that  he  had 
been  to  college  and  was  from  Boston. 

Outside  was  Chet,  already  arrayed  in  his  shaggy 


40  BAR   B    BOYS 

white  chaps  and  his  gauntlet  gloves.  He  appeared 
chubbier  than  ever.  He  ought  to  make  an  awful 
good  center,  or  fullback,  if  he  were  quick  enough, 
thought  Phil,  sizing  him  up. 

''There  come  the  horses,  a-kiting,"  announced 
Chet.  "  After  they're  in  the  corral  we'll  have  break- 
fast.   Can  you  rope  a  hawss  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  never  tried." 

"You'll  have  to.  That's  the  only  way  to  catch 
'em.     I  can.     Want  to  wash  ?  " 

''Yes.     Where?" 

"  In  the  kitchen,  where  you  did  yesterday.  But 
let's  see  Haney  bring  in  the  herd.  Maybe  we  can 
help." 

The  sun  was  just  rising  over  the  great  sagy,  red- 
cragged  hill  close  on  the  east  and  sending  his  first 
beams  down  across  the  ranch  buildings  here  clustered 
upon  the  only  flat  spot,  apparently,  in  this  whole  wild 
country.  For  all  about  were  the  hills,  rocky  and 
covered  with  sage  and  cedars  and  pines,  while  be- 
yond them,  northward  and  southward,  were  snow 
ridges  above  timber-line. 

Although  'twas  the  middle  of  May  the  frost  glis- 
tened upon  the  turfy  roofs,  upon  the  squared  ends  of 
the  logs,  and  upon  the  ground.  The  air  was  sweet 
and  filled  with  the  pungent  aroma  of  sage  and  pine; 
but  it  also  was  sharp,  and  Phil  thrust  his  hands  into 
his  trouser-pockets  ( or  Mr.  Dexter's,  rather)  for 
warmth. 

"See  them?"  queried  Chet. 

Following  Chet's  eyes  Phil  noted,   south  against 


AT   THE    BAR    B    RANCH  41 

the  base  of  the  encompassing  hills,  golden  dust;  and 
suddenly  amidst  the  dust,  uptossing  heads,  white  and 
dark,  and  galloping,  trotting  forms  weaving  back  and 
forth.  Soon,  jostling  down  the  lane  with  Haney 
ambling  complacently  behind,  came  some  twenty 
horses.  They  slowed  and  bunched,  for  a  moment,  at 
sight  of  the  boys;  then,  at  a  yelp  from  Haney,  led 
by  a  sedate  iron-speckled  horse  christened,  as  Phil 
eventually  knew.  Gray  Jack,  they  poured,  playing  and 
biting  and  kicking,  in  through  the  open  gate  of  the 
corral. 

With  chaps  scuffing  delightfully,  Giet  ran  and 
closed  the  gate.  Haney  swung  to  earth,  unsaddled 
and  unbridled  like  lightning,  and  at  a  slap  upon  the 
flank  his  own  horse  trotted  gleesomely  up  the  lane 
again  and  back  into  the  sage,  where  it  stood  and 
whinneyed  for  company. 

"  Grub  pi-ile,"  sighed  Haney,  sauntering  toward 
the  ranch-house.  He  halted  and  removed  his  spurs. 
"My  goodness  me,  boy!"  he  accosted,  with  a  side 
glance  at  Chet.  "  Did  youah  daddy  sleep  with  his 
leather  pants  on,  too  ?  That  bed  must  be  gettin'  right 
lively." 

Chet  blushed,  awkwardly. 

"  Come  on,"  he  bade,  to  Phil.  "  Better  wash  be- 
fore Haney  does.     He'll  set  the  water  to  boiling." 

"  Done  washed,  myself,"  drawled  Haney,  undis- 
turbed. "Always  was  taught  to  wash  an'  comb  my 
haih  soon  as  I  got  up ! ' 

Phil  was  conscious  that  the  shaft  hit  him. 

The  ranch-house  was  a  low  one-story  log  structure, 


42  BAR   B    BOYS 

divided  into  "  office "  and  kitchen.  The  office  was 
really  the  private  room  of  Mr.  Simms^  where  he  not 
only  might  attend  to  his  correspondence,  but  where 
he  sat  when  not  busied  outside,  and  where  he  and  Chet 
slept.  The  kitchen  was  the  meal-time  gathering 
place.  Now  it  was  sizzling  with  frying  meat  and 
potatoes,  and  was  rife  with  the  alluring  odor  of 
coffee.  The  atmosphere  of  warmth  and  promise  ap- 
pealed to  Phil  mightily,  and  seemed  to  be  exciting 
pleasurable  emotions  also  in  Tom,  the  ranch's  big 
brindled  cat,  who  with  stub  tail  stiffly  erect  was 
stalking  around  Old  Jess  the  cook,  and  the  beaming 
hot  stove. 

The  cowboy  Buster  (a  wiry,  small-boned  youth; 
lithe,  tow-headed  and  saying  little)  emptied  the  tin 
basin  out  of  the  door  as  Chet  and  Phil  entered ;  then 
he  proceeded  to  polish  his  face  on  the  crash  towel  be- 
hind the  door. 

"  Go  ahead,"  instructed  Mr.  Dexter,  whose  but- 
ton was  on  and  who  evidently  was  waiting  for  a  turn 
at  the  basin. 

"  Yes,  he's  in  no  hurry.  He  washed  in  Boston 
befoh  he  came  out,"  explained  the  irrepressible  Haney. 

'*  That's  more  than  you  did  before  you  left  Texas," 
retorted  Mr.  Dexter. 

"He  didn't  have  time  to  stop  an'  wash.  Was 
travelin'  too  fast,"  averred  Old  Jess,  from  the  stove. 

Haney  only  grinned  in  response;  and  hanging  his 
broad,  high  hat  on  a  nail,  seated  himself  in  a  chair, 
to  tilt  back  against  a  post-pillar,  and  swing  booted 
feet  and  bide  another  opening. 


HANEY'S    NOOSE    WAS    UPON     HIS     HORSE.     AT     LAST 


AT   THE    BAR    B    RANCH  43 

Taking  Mr.  Dexter  at  his  word,  Phil  proceeded 
to  fill  the  basin  and  to  scrub  his  face  and  hands  with 
lather.  Tom,  the  enormous  cat  aforesaid,  at  a  digni- 
fied pace  crossed  the  room  and  unhesitatingly  jumped 
upon  Haney^s  lap,  where  he  squatted  content. 

"  Howdy  to  you,  then,"  said  Haney,  tickling  Tom's 
pads — whereat  Tom  simultaneously  growled  protest 
and  purred  luxury.  "  Mus'  think  I'm  a  pack  hawss. 
Ought  not  to  fool  with  a  man  'foh  breakfas'." 

"Where's  the  boss?"  asked  Old  Jess,  of  Chet. 
"Better  call  him,  hadn't  yuh?     Breakfas'  is  ready." 

"  Here  he  is "  and  Mr.  Simms,  tall,  spare,  thin 

of  flank,  long  of  leg,  straight  of  back,  a  typical  West- 
ern cowman,  built  to  ride,  entered. 

"  Hello,  boy,"  he  remarked,  nodding  all  around  and 
following  Mr.  Dexter  at  the  basin.  "'Sleep  well? 
Those  fellows  didn't  keep  you  awake  with  their  snor- 
ing?" 

"  No,  suh.  He  was  too  busy  bustin'  broncos  all 
night  to  mind  anybody  snorin',"  put  in  Haney, 
promptly.  "  I  declare,  he  romped  'round  in  there 
somethin'  frightful." 

At  such  a  whopper  Phil  could  but  gasp.  He  never 
knew  what  this  red-headed  Haney  was  going  to  say 
next — nor  did  anybody  else,  he  soon  learned. 

"  I  see  Chet  is  all  ready,"  continued  Mr.  Simms, 
from  the  folds  of  the  crash  towel. 

"  Yes,  suh.  We-all  reckoned  he  wore  his  chaps 
the  plumb  night  through,"  volunteered  Haney. 
"  Wanted  to  get  after  those  rustlers  bright  an' 
early." 


44  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  get  after  them,  and  get 
after  them  proper,"  said  Mr.  Simms,  emphatically. 
"  Chet  can  sleep  with  his  spurs  on,  too,  and  I'll  never 
complain,  if  it  will  help  us  run  those  thieves  to  their 
holes." 

**  Well,  we  got  this  new  man  on  the  range,  now," 
proffered  Haney,  solemnly,  still  tickling  Tom's  feet. 
"  Way  he  was  ra'in  an'  teahin'  'round  in  his  end  o' 
the  bunk-house  las'  night  there  won't  be  room  foh 
him  an'  any  rustlers  togethuh  in  this  country,  I  lell 
yuh!" 

"No;  there  isn't  room  for  anybody  who  can  make 
a  TB  out  of  a  Bar  B,  sure,"  decreed  Mr.  Simms. 

Phil  listened  with  a  little  thrill.  But  Old  Jess  in- 
terrupted. 

"  Fall  to  it,  boys,"  he  bade. 

"  Come  on,"  warned  Chet,  to  Phil. 

Haney  unceremoniously  dumped  Tom  to  the  floor; 
and  with  clump  of  boot  and  sundry  scraping,  the  four 
men  and  the  two  boys  seated  themselves  upon  the 
bench  which  ran  along  either  side  of  the  oil-cloth 
covered  board  table.  Phil's  place,  as  on  the  preceding 
evening,  was  between  Chet  and  Mr.  Dexter. 

Presently  the  cowboy  Buster,  who  had  been  finish- 
ing with  bread  and  sorghum,  and  had  polished  his 
plate,  heaved  a  sigh,  and  twisting  sideways  extricated 
himself  from  the  table.  Mr.  Simms  likewise  arose. 
So  did  Haney. 

"  'Fraid  Smith-Jones  ain*t  feelin'  very  puht  this 
mohnin',"  he  alleged,  gravely — referring  to  Phil. 
**  Don't  appeah  to  eat." 


AT   THE    BAR    B    RANCH  45 

And  thereafter  he  unvaryingly  designated  Phil  as 
"  Smith-Jones,"  claiming  that  he  never  could  remem- 
ber names. 

With  Chet  Phil  emerged,  feeling  well  fortified 
against  the  day,  into  the  out-of-doors.  The  sun  was 
hot,  spreading  his  golden  largesse  over  the  sage  far 
and  wide,  and  over  slope  and  crest.  Flies  were  buzz- 
ing; but  in  the  shade  of  the  buildings  the  frost  was 
still  heavy,  and  the  boards  of  the  fences  were  marked 
in  white  upon  the  ground. 

The  men  (except  Old  Jess,  who  in  his  capacity  of 
cook  remained  to  wash  the  dishes)  strolled  noncha- 
lantly to  the  blacksmith  shop  and  tool  shed,  toward 
the  corral.  Along  the  log  front,  upon  which  were 
nailed  several  coyote  and  wolf  pelts  and  a  double  row 
of  mountain  lion  tails,  peeled  (trophies  which  fas- 
cinated Phil's  eyes  and  thoughts),  under  the  broad 
eaves,  were  lying  upon  their  sides  a  number  of  sad- 
dles, with  the  saddle-blankets  thrown  carelessly 
across  them.  Each  man  untied  from  his  saddle  a 
coil  of  rope. 

"What  can  Phil  ride,  daddie?"  queried  Chet — 
now,  like  the  rest  of  them,  with  rope  in  hand. 

Phil,  who  had  helplessly  been  watching  proceed- 
ings, wondering  where  he  came  in,  listened,  silent  but 
expectant. 

"  Let  me  see,"  mused  Mr.  Simms.  He  eyed  the 
corral.  "  I  think  we'll  give  him  Pepper  this  morn- 
ing.    Pepper's  gentle." 

"  I  dunno,"  murmured  Haney,  who  was  pulling  on 
a  pair  of  leather  chaps  with  flapping  wings  brass- 


46  BAR   B    BOYS 

studded  along  the  edges.  **  Awful  frisky  hawss,  that. 
Wouldn't  ketch  me  ridin'  him.     Uh-um-m-m ! " 

Phil  could  not  repress  a  slight  natural  sensation  of 
alarm;  but 

"  Don't  you  mind  what  he  says,"  reassured  Chet. 
''  He's  only  trying  to  shoot  it  into  you.  Pepper  won't 
do  anything.  Come  on  and  I'll  rope  him  for  you. 
You  bring  that  old  piece  of  rope  so  you  can  lead  him 
out." 

The  corral  was  a  space  some  twenty  yards  across, 
fenced  about,  rudely  circular,  by  aspen  poles,  with  their 
ends  held  between  pairs  of  cedar  posts.  At  the  en- 
trance, through  the  gate,  of  the  men  with  their  coils 
of  rope,  the  twenty  horses  immediately  crowded  in  a 
group  at  the  far  side,  and  every  animal,  ostrich  fash- 
ion, tried  to  hide  his  head  amidst  his  fellows.  The 
horses  upon  the  outskirts  shoved  frantically  and 
nipped  right  and  left,  to  work  into  the  center.  To 
Phil,  hanging  upon  the  rails  near  the  gate,  and  ob- 
serving, this  seemed  pretty  smart  of  the  horses. 

Mr.  Dexter  walked  straight  across,  shaking  out 
the  loop  in  his  right  hand,  holding  the  coil  in  his  left. 
The  group  of  crowding  horses  broke — and  instantly 
with  a  quick  flirt  he  cast.  "  Good !  "  almost  applauded 
Phil,  for  a  chestnut  horse  apparently  ran  his  head 
right  into  the  wide  noose  as  it  hovered  over  him. 

Mr.  Dexter  gave  a  little  jerk,  the  horse  stopped  in 
his  tracks  and  obediently  came  along  at  the  end  of 
the  rope.  Mr.  Dexter  led  him  through  the  gate, 
which  Phil  opened  and  closed. 

Buster,  too,  had  readily  noosed  his  horse — a  big 


AT   THE    BAR    B    RANCH  47 

roan.  Mr.  Simms  did  not  throw  his  rope,  but  with 
"Look  out!"  "Steady,  there!"  '*Whoa,  now!" 
advanced,  wary  but  firm,  straight  up  to  his  horse,  and 
sHpped  the  noose  right  over  its  head,  unresisted.  Mr. 
Simms'  influence  upon  horses  was  of  this  rare  nature: 
he  could  approach  them,  talking  to  them,  and  they 
would  let  him.  In  corral  and  pasture  he  seldom  threw 
his  rope.  His  method  was  less  spectacular,  but  suf- 
ficient. 

The  horses  were  racing  tumultuously  around  and 
around  the  corral,  as  in  a  circus  ring,  while  at  the 
center,  like  ring-masters,  stood  Haney  and  Chet. 
Haney  had  not  thrown,  yet;  with  his  loop  swinging 
about  his  head  he  had  vainly  been  waiting  a  chance. 

"  That  blame  pinto  hawss — he's  too  cute  to  live 
much  longer,"  scolded  Haney,  wrathfully.  "  Look 
at  him,  will  yuh?  Keeps  behind  that  Rover  laik  he 
was  stuck  to  him !  " 

Chet  had  been  throwing  again  and  again,  but  had 
caught  only  a  post — twice.  Suddenly  Haney's  loop 
shot  out  and  neatly  settled  upon  the  horse  that  Chet 
was  after. 

"  Here's  youah  hawss,"  presented  Haney.  "  Take 
him  out.  You  bothuh  me.  Fust  thing  you  know 
you'll  ketch  somethin'  by  the  foot,  an'  then  there'll  be 
nothin'  but  trouble." 

Chet  had  not  been  remarkably  successful,  and  very 
red  with  exertion  and  chagrin  he  traded  ropes  upon 
the  horse's  neck  and  made  exit  with  his  mount.  Phil 
politely  pretended  not  to  notice  him ;  but  roping  looked 
easy. 


48  BAR  B    BOYS 

Hurrah!  Haney's  noose  was  upon  his  horse,  at 
last.  And  now,  amidst  laughter,  his  high  heels 
pegging  into  the  ground  as  he  set  back,  half  doubled, 
upon  the  rope,  he  was  being  tugged  about  the  corral, 
through  dust  and  mud,  by  the  plunging  pinto. 

But  under  the  savage  jerks  and  the  dead  weight 
of  1 80  pounds  the  pinto's  wind  was  failing  rapidly, 
and  in  a  moment  he  stood,  docile,  flanks  trembling, 
sides  heaving. 

"  Yuh,  come  along,  yuh,  if  yuh  got  enough,"  panted 
Haney.  And  the  pinto — who  was  curiously  blotched 
with  white  and  brown — came. 

"  Well,  son,  whereas  your  horse  ?  "  Phil  heard  at 
his  elbow  as  he  closed  the  gate.  Twas  Mr.  Dexter, 
who  had  bridled  and  saddled  and  returned. 

Sure  enough.  It  seemed  as  though  Phil  was  being 
forgotten.  Thus  he  was  early  having  it  impressed 
upon  him  that  in  the  open  West  man  and  even  boy 
must  look  out  for  himself. 

"  He*s  Pepper.  He's  in  there,  but  I  don't  know 
which  one,"  answered  Phil. 

"  I  guess  I'd  better  catch  him  for  you,"  volun- 
teered Mr.  Dexter.  "  You  can  do  your  own  roping 
next  time.  Pepper's  that  little  speckled  blue — iron- 
gray  you'd  call  him — with  a  diamond  on  the  right 
hip.     Hold  the  gate " 

By  a  quick  toss  of  his  head  Pepper  adroitly  dodged 
the  loop;  but  Mr.  Dexter,  laughing  gleefully,  threw 
again,  from  behind,  and  brought  him  up  short. 

"  Put  your  piece  of  rope  around  his  neck ;  now  you 
have  him."     And  Phil,  iTluch  relieved,  conducted  Pep- 


AT   THE    BAR    B    RANCH  49 

per  out  to  the  saddling  place  before  the  blacksmith 
shop. 

"  Leave  the  gate  open,"  had  directed  Mr.  Dexter. 
Following  Pepper's  exit,  forth  sidled  all  the  free 
horses,  to  scuttle  up  the  lane  and  to  pasture.  This 
was  not  their  day. 

"  We'll  give  you  Jess'  old  tree,  to-day,  boy,"  an- 
nounced Mr.  Simms.  "  It'll  hold  together,  I  reckon, 
and  there'll  be  an  extra  saddle  come  down  from  the 
hawss  camp  with  Hombre  that  you  can  have.  Here's 
a  bridle.  You  can  use  that  sacking  for  saddle  blanket 
until  we  find  something  better.  You  and  Chet  can 
ride  with  Haney  this  morning.  I'll  take  your  letters 
into  town.  Did  you  write  to  have  your  baggage  ^at- 
tended to  at  the  other  end  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Somebody  saddle  up  for  Smith-Jones,  then. 
Cain't  wait  long,"  admonished  Haney,  who  was  buck- 
ling on  his  spurs.  "  Fifty  miles  to  go  and  back  'foh 
dinner!  " 

"Here — I'll  show  you,"  said  Mr.  Dexter;  and 
twitching  the  sacking  into  better  position  he  took  the 
old  saddle  (worn  though  it  was  almost  to  the  original 
frame  or  tree  it  weighed  more  than  Phil  had  figured) 
from  Phil's  hands  and  chucked  it  easily  into  place 
upon  Pepper's  back.  While  he  straightened  the  single 
girth  and  fastened  it,  Mr.  Simms  supplemented  the 
operations  by  stepping  forward  and  fitting  the  bridle 
into  place. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said.  "  How  are  you?  Pretty 
good  on  the  ride?" 


50  BAR   B    BOYS 

"Yes,  sir.  I  ride  our  horse  at  home,  some,"  in- 
formed Phil. 

"  Get  aboard,  then.  Other  side,  or  he'll  throw  you, 
sure!  Never  mount  a  hawss  in  this  country  from  the 
right  side — unless  he's  an  Injun  hawss,  and  you  can't 
always  tell,  even  in  that  case." 

Chet  giggled;  but  Phil,  abashed  at  his  mistake  and 
at  apparently  keeping  everybody  waiting,  was  con- 
scious, as  he  now  essayed  Pepper's  left  side,  that  no 
one  else  was  laughing.  Even  Haney  sat  his  horse, 
gravely  if  critically  observing.  As  for  Chet — well, 
Chet  had  caught  only  a  post  in  the  corral,  for  all  his 
exhibit  of  big  shaggy  white  chaps. 

"Is  Smith-Jones  on?"  questioned  Haney,  quite 
superfluously. 

"  Stirrups  feel  right  ? "  asked  Mr.  Dexter,  quietly, 
pulling  at  themw  "Yes,  he's  on,"  he  responded,  at 
Phil's  nod. 

**  Good,"  decreed  Haney,  wheeling  his  horse.  "  Now 
the  bears  an'  rustlers  shuah  better  hide  up,  foh  Smith- 
Jones  an'  Chet  an'  me  are  headin'  squah  into  their 
country." 

And  Haney  spoke  more  truly  than  he  knew. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PHIL  RIDES   THE   RANGE 

The  ranch  buildings  were  along  the  course  of  a 
muddy,  crooked  creek  whose  bed  was  fifteen  feet  be- 
low between  steep  shale-and-adobe  banks.  A  path 
descended  to  the  creek  ford;  Haney  plunged  down; 
so  did  Chet;  and  Phil,  feeling  curiously  elevated  and 
tucked  in  on  his  cowboy  saddle  with  its  high  pommel 
and  cantel,  followed.  The  current,  yellow  and  swift 
from  the  snows  yet  melting  upon  these  white  ridges 
far  south,  would  bar  the  progress ;  but  Haney,  with  a 
jab  of  his  spurs,  forced  his  horse  right  in.  The  heavy 
water  swirled  about  his  stirrups;  he  disdained  to 
withdraw  his  feet,  and  let  them  hang.  Chet  held 
his  ludicrously  extended  before  him. 

"  You  want  to  head  up,  Smith-Jones,"  called 
Haney,  halting  on  the  trail  which  climbed  the  farther 
bank.  "There's  a  big  hole,  jes'  below.  It  shuah  will 
drown  yuh,  if  you  get  in." 

With  a  snort  Pepper  entered  the  stream.  Phil  raised 
his  feet,  but  the  depth  increased  alarmingly,  and  the 
current  seemed  to  be  carrying  Pepper  with  it. 

"Head  him  up!  Head  him  up!"  enjoined  Haney, 
earnestly. 

"You're  down  too  far.  Kick  him  in  the  ribs," 
cried  Chet,  from  safety. 

Phil  incautiously  lowered  one  foot,   to  kick,  and 

51 


52  BAR   B    BOYS 

doused  it  to  the  ankle.  But  Pepper  was  struggling- 
gallantly,  and  with  the  water  against  his  breast  was 
obliquing  up,  inch  by  inch.  The  water  shoaled,  and 
with  one  foot  wet  and  a  slight  breathlessness  Phil  was 
borne  out  to  fall  in  behind  the  others. 

"  Mos'  lost  Smith-Jones  that  time,"  decreed  Haney, 
over  his  shoulder,  as  if  communing  with  the  land- 
scape. 

*'Your  foot  will  dry  in  a  little  bit,"  comforted 
Chet. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care,"  declared  Phil,  bluffly. 

They  followed  the  gravelly  trail  winding  over  the 
sagy  hill;  Haney  was  before,  and  from  the  rear  Phil 
could  note  his  long  easy  seat  in  the  saddle,  where  he 
was  one  with  every  movement  of  his  pinto ;  Chet,  too, 
seemed  to  "  fit "  exactly.  His  chaps  and  Haney's  were 
as  if  measured  to  the  horses'  sides.  Holding  his  bridle 
hand  high,  and  sitting  straight,  Phil  unconsciously 
imitated.     He  was  a  cowboy. 

On  the  other  side  the  hill  sloped  gently  away  into 
a  long,  wide  flat,  extending  north  and  south,  and  gray 
with  the  everlasting  sage.  Haney  broke  his  pinto  into 
a  gallop;  on  they  sped,  for  a  few  minutes,  Chet  and 
Haney  abreast,  Phil  on  Pepper  close  behind.  Having 
given  the  horses  a  breather,  they  slackened  to  a  walk. 

Ah,  this  was  glorious.  Phil  was  keenly  alive,  drink- 
ing in  the  experience.  The  sky  was  very  blue,  the 
sun  shone  full,  the  air  was  pungently  sweet,  around 
stretched  the  vast  expanse  of  sage  and  greasewood, 
bordered  by  rock  and  pine  and  cedar.  Overhead,  in 
the  blue,  floated   a  black  turkey  buzzard;  the  only 


PHIL    RIDES    THE    RANGE  53 

mark.  No  sound  was  to  be  heard  except  the  thud 
of  the  horses'  hoofs,  clank  of  bridle  and  spur,  and  scuff 
of  chap.  Phil  urged  Pepper  into  the  front  rank,  and 
now  the  three  of  them  rode  in  a  line,  like  knights  er- 
rant. 

Haney  pointed  with  gloved  hand  down  beside  his 
horse,  at  the  trail.  "  Big  ol*  wolf,"  he  volunteered. 
**  Wonder  where  he  was  goin'.  Followin'  the  trail 
laik  he  was  a  dog." 

Phil  veered  over  to  examine;  and  in  the  dust  he 
saw  plainly  the  prints  of  a  padded  foot — large  and 
round ;  but  for  all  that  he  could  tell  it  might  have  been 
a  dog's. 

"  Lookin'  for  some  daown  animal,  or  weak  calf,  I 
reckon,"  said  Haney. 

'Td  like  to  get  him,  wouldn't  you?"  exclaimed 
Chet. 

"  Mistuh  Wolf's  pretty  smart.  He  ain't  'round 
hankerin'  to  be  skinned.  Laik  as  not  he's  layin'  up 
among  those  rocks  right  now,  lookin'  at  us,"  averred 
Haney. 

Phil  gazed  apprehensively  at  the  mass  of  rocks  up- 
standing beside  the  trail.  But  he  descried  no  prick- 
ears  and  sharp  snout  of  a  wolf. 

"Under  places  like  those  is  where  the  caows  get 
in  out  o'  the  wind  an'  weather,  Smith-Jones,"  said 
Haney,  with  a  side  nod  of  his  head  indicating  the 
trampled  space  of  ground  beneath  a  lime-stone  shelf. 

"  They  get  in  there  and  they  get  in  under  the  cedars, 
too,"  said  Chet.  "The  Bar  B  has  the  best  winter 
range  anywhere  around." 


54  BAR   B    BOYS 

They  changed  from  a  walk  to  a  trot,  and  Phil  fell 
in  behind  again,  as  Pepper  seemed  to  prefer  the  trail 
to  dodging  the  sage.  Trot,  trot,  trot,  with  Haney 
standing  in  his  stirrups,  a  hand  upon  the  horn,  Chet 
doing  the  same,  and  Phil  trying  to  imitate  them  both. 
Pepper's  trot  was  not  the  easiest  motion  in  the  world, 
and  kept  Phil  busy  experimenting  with  it.  A  deep 
arroyo,  or  dried  water  course,  cut  their  way;  with 
the  horses  sliding  down  its  loose  bank  they  entered  it, 
and  after  following  it  for  one  hundred  yards  climbed 
out  again,  with  the  trail. 

Twice  they  crossed  the  arroyos,  Haney  and  Chet 
seeming  to  know  intuitively  the  route  through.  But 
the  bottoms  were  so  traveled  by  cattle  tracks  that 
Phil  could  not  have  told  which  way  to  turn. 

"  Those  look  laik  some  o'  them,  yonder,"  announced 
Haney;  he  abruptly  pulled  his  pinto  from  the  trail 
and  went  at  a  gallop  through  the  sage,  to  the  left. 
Chet  instantly  followed;  without  any  impetus  from 
Phil,  Pepper  did  the  same.  As  Pepper  weaved 
through  the  tall  brush  Phil  had  all  that  he  could  do 
to  stick  on,  and  he  ignominiously  held  to  the  horn. 
Suddenly  Haney  pulled  up  sharply,  and  turned  for 
the  trail  again.  So  did  Chet.  He  grinned  as  he 
noted  Phil's  clutch. 

"  You  won't  fall  off,"  he  said.  "  This  ain't  any- 
thing— galloping  easy  through  the  sage.  ^Wait  till 
you're  following  a  steer  and  trying  to  catch  him!" 

"What's  the  matter?  What  made  Haney  turn 
back?"  asked  Phil. 

"  I  guess  those  aren't  Bar  B  cattle,  after  all,"  an- 
swered Chet.     "  He  thought  they  might  be." 


PHIL    RIDES    THE    RANGE  55 

"  Those  are  Lazy  J  stock,"  announced  Haney. 
*'  Except  that  big  yearlin'.     He's  Bar  B,  all  right." 

"How  do  you  know,  so  far?"  ventured  Phil. 

"  Can  see,"  responded  Haney,  laconically.  "  Bar 
B  ear  mark's  a  square  crop  on  the  left ;  all  those  cat- 
tle except  the  big  yearlin'  have  a  swallow-fohk." 

Phil  pondered.  He  could  scarcely  distinguish  the 
animals  themselves;  Haney  had  made  out  the  ears. 
Huh!     He  had  more  respect  for  Haney. 

"Could  you  see  the  ear-marks,  Chet?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  all,"  admitted  Chet.  "  But  Haney  can  see 
an  ear-mark  a  mile." 

"  Sometimes  five  mile,  when  I  got  my  glasses  on ! " 
supplemented  Haney,  composedly.  "  When  an  animal 
raises  his  haid  that  way  you  can  see  the  ear-mark 
fust!" 

Presently  he  turned  off  again,  but  rode  only  at  a 
trot,  making  toward  more  cattle  grazing  in  the  sage. 

"  You  an'  Smith-Jones  hold  'em,  while  I  ride 
'round,"  he  directed  to  Chet.    "  Lot  o'  calves  in  there." 

"  We'll  spread  out,  so  as  to  stop  'em  if  they  try 
to  run,"  explained  Chet.  "  He  wants  to  see  if  they're 
all  branded." 

So  with  Chet  swinging  toward  the  fore  of  the 
bunch  of  animals,  and  Haney  cutting  in  at  the  rear, 
Phil,  on  the  middle  course,  watched.  The  cattle  held 
high  their  heads,  and  several  arose  hastily  to  their 
feet.  Little  calves  scampered  with  tails  up  to  join 
their  mammies,  who  protested  with  lowered  heads 
against  the  horsemen's  approach.  Phil  halted.  He 
had  gone  far  enough. 

Haney  rode  at  a  walk  here  and  there,  now  standing 


56  BAR   B    BOYS 

in  his  stirrups  to  peer,  now  settling  down  again. 
Suddenly  he  shook  out  his  rope,  and  the  lengthening 
loop  began  to  circle  about  his  head.  His  horse  quick- 
ened to  a  gallop  and  out  from  the  edge  of  the  little 
herd  they  burst,  pursuing  a  half-grown  heifer.  The 
heifer  ran  like  a  deer.  With  a  whoop  of  delight  Chet 
wheeled  to  the  chase,  preparing  his  own  rope.  And 
now  crashing  through  the  sage  they  came,  the  heifer 
bawling  and  jumping,  the  two  riders  hard  behind 
swinging  their  loops  with  one  hand,  holding  the  coil 
in  the  other,  and  sitting  as  securely  as  though  glued 
to  the  saddle.  The  herd  went  galloping  off,  except 
one  old  cow,  the  heifer's  fond  mother,  who  lingered 
and  stared  anxiously. 

The  heifer  turned  for  her,  and  scurried  across 
Chet's  path.  He  threw  like  an  expert,  and  the  noose 
fell  true,  to  tighten  on  the  heifer's  horns. 

"Broken  naik!  Let  go,"  warned  Haney;  and  away 
went  the  heifer  with  the  rope  trailing. 

Chet,  now  ropeless,  pulled  up  disappointed. 

"  I  got  her,  tho',  didn't  I  ?  "  he  appealed  to  Phil. 

"You  bet  you  did,"  corroborated  Phil,  vastly  ex- 
cited. 

Spurring  his  pinto  Haney  rode  like  a  demon,  and 
rapidly  closed  the  gap  opened  out  by  the  heifer's 
fresh  endeavors.  His  noose  sailed  forth,  and  landed 
easily  about  her  outstretched  neck. 

''  He's  got  her!  "  yelped  Chet.    "  Come  on!  " 

They  tore  through  the  sage.  Phil  clung  for  dear 
life  to  the  saddle-horn.  As  the  noose  tightened 
Haney  had  spurred  forward  to  give  more  slack ;  then 


PHIL    RIDES    THE    RANGE  57 

his  knowing  pinto  had  turned  at  right  angles.  The 
rope  tightened  with  a  jerk,  and  the  heifer,  describing 
a  somersault,  landed  with  a  thud  and  lay  on  her  side, 
too  winded  even  to  bawl.  The  mother  cow,  at  a  little 
distance,  waited  and  gazed,  lowing  inquiringly. 

"  All  over,"  decreed  Haney,  cheerfully,  dismount- 
ing. His  pinto  stood,  with  head  turned  and  ears 
pricked,  keeping  the  rope  tight.  The  heifer  was 
wheezing  loudly,  for  the  noose  was  shutting  off  her 
breath.  Haney  ran,  clumsy  in  his  chaps,  through  the 
sage,  and  drawing  a  piece  of  small  rope  from  his 
pocket,  bending  over  the  prostrate  victim  proceeded 
to  tie  her  feet  together.  Chet,  who  also  had  dis- 
mounted, ran  and  sat  on  her  head. 

"  Ease  up  on  the  rope  a  little,  will  yuh  ?  "  called 
Haney,  to  Phil.  "  She's  a-chokin'  to  death,  I  reckon. 
That  pinto  is  holdin'  too  hahd." 

Glad  to  occupy  himself  someway  Phil  dismounted, 
dropped  the  lines  as  he  had  seen  the  others  do,  and 
hastening  to  the  pinto  moved  him  a  few  steps,  slack- 
ening the  taut  rope. 

By  this  time  Haney  had  half-hitched  the  heifer's 
four  feet  together  in  a  bunch;  bracing  a  boot  on  her 
side  he  pulled  the  tie-string  into  a  tight  knot.  Chet 
removed  the  noose  from  her  neck,  and  there  she  lay, 
helpless,  now  bawling  sonorously,  her  swelling  sides 
heaving,  her  eyes  rolling. 

"  Thought  Smith-Jones  would  have  a  fiah  all  goin', 
by  this  time,"  complained  Haney.  He  broke  off  a  few 
dried  stalks  of  the  sage,  heaped  them  together,  and 
crouching  over  them  applied  a  match.    Chet  brought 


58  BAR   B    BOYS 

him  more  stalks,  and  Phil,  admonished  by  word  and 
action,  did  the  same. 

**Just  the  dry  pieces,'^  instructed  Chet,  businesslike 
in  his  bearing  and  chap-clad  legs. 

The  sage  burned  briskly ;  the  prone  heifer  continued 
to  bawl.  Haney,  having  fed  the  blaze  to  his  satisfac- 
tion, straightened  and  trudged  through  the  brush  to 
his  pinto,  who  stood  dozing.  He  fumbled  at  the  sad- 
dle, untying  something,  and  returned  with  a  pair  of 
flat-rimmed  rings,  composed  of  horse-shoes  with  their 
points  welded  together.  These  he  tucked  among  the 
embers.  He  gravely  squatted  again.  Chet  squatted. 
Phil  squatted.  The  heifer  bawled,  unceasingly,  the 
old  cow,  her  mother,  at  a  little  distance  watching, 
lowed  plaintive  response,  the  three  horses  stood  with 
drooping  heads,  snatching  their  forty  winks. 

"  You  hush  up,  now,"  ordered  Haney,  rising  and 
stepping  to  the  heifer.  "  Goin'  to  tuhn  you  over  an* 
give  you  somethin'  to  bawl  about/'  Whereupon  by 
the  tail  and  feet  he  flopped  the  victim  over.  "  Now 
you  goin'  to  get  youah  medicine,"  he  informed;  and 
he  extracted  one  of  the  welded  horse-shoes  from  the 
coals.  Inserting  a  pair  of  sticks,  crossed,  through  it, 
he  cleverly  held  it,  as  by  a  handle.  Kneeling  upon  the 
heifer  he  began  to  burn  her  flank — ^pressing  hard  and 
inscribing  painstakingly  a  large  B.  The  hair  smoked, 
the  flesh  sizzled,  the  heifer  bawled  angrily,  the  old 
cow  lowed,  and  a  little  thrill  of  pity  and  horror  ran 
through  Phil.. 

"  That  must  hurt,"  he  exclaimed. 

*'  Cain't  help  it,"  grunted  Haney.     "  Everybody's 


PHIL    RIDES    THE    RANGE  59 

got  to  get  hurt  some  in  this  world.  Never  knew  a 
caow  to  die  o'  branding  yet." 

"  It's  no  worse  than  tattooing,"  declared  Chet. 

"  Only,  the  cattle  don't  want  to  be  tattooed." 

"  Don't  reckon  this  hurt  lasts  long,"  grunted  Haney. 
"Let  'em  up  and  laik  as  not  they  go  right  to  eatin'. 
Hush,  yuh,"  he  ordered.  **  You'll  make  youah  mammy 
ashamed  o'  yuh.  I  got  to  burn  the  bar  yet.  Hush 
up !     Almost  a  yearlin',  an'  bellerin'  laik  that !  " 

He  threw  his  horse-shoe  down,  and  took  the  other 
one.  Above  the  B  he  limned  a  bar.  Standing  he 
surveyed  his  work  critically. 

"Sho',  now,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "Mos'  fohgot 
the  dew-lap."  Dropping  his  branding-iron  he  kneeled 
at  the  heifer's  head,  and  drawing  his  pocket  knife, 
opened  it;  stretching  the  skin  of  the  throat  he  cut  a 
slash,  so  that  a  strip  of  the  skin  hung  free.  Phil,  with 
alarm,  thought  for  a  moment  that  Haney  was  killing 
the  poor  animal.  But  the  cut  was  only  skin-deep. 
The  heifer,  whose  bawls  had  died  to  an  exhausted 
moan,  clamored  afresh. 

"  Let  yuh  up  now,"  quoth  Haney.  "  Think  you'll 
be  kind  o'  rambunctious,  hey?" 

Chet  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  so  did  Phil,  and 
they  ran  back  toward  their  horses.  Haney  bent  over 
the  animal,  untied  her  feet,  and  twitched  off  the  rope. 

*'Get  up.  Youah  mammy's  waitin'  foh  yuh,"  he 
urged,  applying  his  toe  fearlessly. 


CHAPTER   VII 

PHIL    HOLDS    THE    LITTLE    RED    BULL 

With  sudden  realization  that  she  was  free  the 
heifer  lurched  to  her  feet,  for  an  instant  unsteady, 
glowering  and  puffing.  Haney  sprang  back,  laugh- 
ing gleefully,  ready  to  dodge  or  to  stand ;  but  bawling, 
she  went  trotting  away.  Her  mother  met  her,  nosed 
her  wounds,  licked  her,  and  presently  gave  her  liquid 
refreshment. 

"Look  at  that,  will  yuh!"  directed  Haney,  dis- 
gusted. "  Big  as  her  mammy  an'  still  a-drinkin'  milk. 
Where's  my  other  saddle-iron?  You  got  it,  Smith- 
Jones?" 

"  What  is  it?    That  ring  you  used?  " 

"  Yes,  suh.  Threw  both  daown.  Cain't  only  find 
one." 

Phil,  advancing,  at  that  moment  stepped  on  it, 
where  it  had  rolled. 

'*  Here  it  is,"  he  said.  "  Ouch,"  for  it  was  still  hot. 

Haney  picked  it  up  with  a  stick,  and  carried  it,  with 
its  mate,  to  his  saddle. 

"  These  are  saddle-irons,"  he  informed.  "  Ain't 
allowed  to  carry  'em  on  mos'  ranges;  liable  to  get 
held  up  foh  a  rustler,  if  yuh  do.  Carry  'em  in  this 
rough  country  'cause  we  have  to  brand  critters  where 
we  find  'em.  Round-up  misses  a  lot.  Use  regular 
stamp-iron  at  the  round-up." 

60 


PHIL    HOLDS    THE   RED    BULL         6i 

"When  is  a  round-up?'*  asked  Phil. 

"  Calf  round-up  foh  this  district  comes  next  month, 
I  reckon,"  said  Haney,  who,  having  tied  his  saddle- 
irons  to  the  saddle,  was  engaged  in  coiling  his  rope. 
"  Yes,  suh,"  he  affirmed,  swinging  into  the  saddle. 
"  If  I  was  caught  with  these  closed  hawss-shoes  on 
my  saddle,  daown  south  or  up  nawth,  I'd  get  all  shot 
to  pieces,  laik  as  not." 

They  passed  through  several  other  bunches  of 
cattle,  but  no  branding  was  necessary.  A  sagy  draw 
came  in  at  right  angles,  to  join  the  flat,  and  into  this 
they  turned,  following  a  well-worn  cattle  trail. 

"  Corduroy's  goin'  up,  I  see,"  remarked  Haney, 
gravely. 

Phil  could  only  flush,  and  try  to  kick  his  trousers 
to  met  his  shoe-tops  again.  Under  the  walking,  trot- 
ting and  galloping  they  were  always  creeping  higher 
along  his  calf ;  when  Haney  spoke  they  were  half  way 
to  his  knee.  He  was  aware  also  that  the  stirrups  were 
wearing  a  hole  into  his  shin,  and  that  the  saddle 
seams  were  rubbing  raw  his  thighs.  There  was  more 
motion  about  Pepper  than  he  had  expected.  But  he 
said  not  a  word. 

The  draw  proved  to  have  fully  two  hundred  cattle 
in  it,  some  collected  about  a  small  pond  or  water-hole 
near  its  mouth. 

"  Cattle  are  comin'  daown  pretty  well,  seems  laik," 
vouchsafed  Haney.  "  But  there's  a  whole  lot  in  the 
hills,  yet.  Long's  they  can  get  plenty  to  drink  up 
there,  they  stay." 

He  had  been  glancing  alertly  about,  as  he  rode  on ; 


62  BAR   B    BOYS 

and  now  he  pulled  his  horse  short,  and  scrutinized 
a  stout  red  bull,  who  half-sullenly,  half-stupidly,  faced 
them. 

**  Sakes  alive,  boy,  where'd  you  come  from  ?  "  in- 
quired Haney,  of  the  bull.  "Ain't  yuh  kind  o'  lost? 
Where  you  been  keepin'  youahself?" 

He  slowly  rode  around  the  little  bull,  which  steadily 
fronted  him,  with  lowered  head  and  round  bulging 
eyes  and  stubby  but  sharp  horns. 

"  A  shuah  'nough  maverick,"  declared  Haney. 
"  Pretty  tough  ol'  chap  to  manage,  but  we'll  have  to 
get  after  him,  Chet — Smith-Jones  helpin'.  Bar  B 
might  as  well  have  him  as  anybody.  He's  on  our 
range.  Ain't  got  no  mammy,  far  as  I  can  see.  Mus' 
have  left  her  last  fall.'' 

He  took  down  his  rope,  and  Chet  took  down  his. 
The  little  bull  lowed  menacingly,  even  plaintively,  as 
if  he  realized  that  an  evil  hour  was  upon  him. 

'*  Tell  me  what  to  do,  if  there  is  anything,  Haney," 
prompted  Phil,  helpless  as  usual.  "  I'm  no  good  at 
this  sort  of  thing." 

"  That's  true,  you  ain't,"  agreed  Haney,  calmly. 
"  But  you'll  learn,  Smith-Jones.  Chet,  you  get  youah 
rope  'round  his  naik  (he  was  referring  now  to  the 
little  bull),  an'  when  he's  prancin'  I'll  ketch  him  by 
the  laigs,  an'  we'll  stretch  him.  Easy,  now.  Go  right 
up  along  him  an'  drop  it  over.  What  yuh  'fraid  of. 
That's  the  way.     Now  yuh  got  him." 

Thus  incited,  Chet,  urging  his  horse  to  the  bull, 
from  rearward  had  tossed  his  noose  over  the  bull's 
head ;  and  now  paying  off  drew  it  tight.    Annoyed  by 


PHIL    HOLDS    THE    RED    BULL         63 

the  sensation,  the  little  red  bull  began  to  plunge  and 
lunge. 

"  Keep  out  of  his  way,  Smith-Jones,'*  warned 
Haney,  above  the  bawling.  "  You  an'  Chet  watch  his 
front  end ;  I'll  take  care  of  his  hind  end ; "  and  follow- 
ing close,  he  flipped  the  noose  over  the  bull's  back  so 
that  it  swung  under  and  along  the  ground.  In  an 
instant  the  bull  had  thrust  a  hind  leg  through. 

"Got  him  by  the  laig,  got  him  by  the  laig!"  an- 
nounced Haney,  excited  or  pretending  to  be  excited. 
"  'Drather  have  him  by  both.  Goin'  to  swing  him 
now,  Smith-Jones.     Get  out  o'  my  road." 

By  a  rapid  circle  Haney  swept  the  bull  from  his 
feet,  and  he  came  to  the  ground  with  a  thud.  Phil, 
anxious  to  show  a  helping  spirit,  slid  from  the  saddle 
and  ran  and  sat  on  the  little  bull's  head.  The  animal's 
breath  came  hot  and  wheezy,  and  his  eyes  rolled  up 
red  but  appealing. 

*'  'Ray  for  Smith- Jones,"  cheered  Haney.  "  Cain't 
get  away  now,  Mr.  Bull.  Hold  him,  Smith-Jones, 
till  we  tie  his  other  laig  up." 

Leaving  his  horse,  Haney  ran  over. 

"  Don't  need  you  at  his  haid,"  he  said.  "  Chet'll 
take  care  of  his  haid.  Ketch  his  upper  hind  laig,  the 
one  with  the  rope  on,  in  both  youah  hands,  an'  stick 
youah  foot  against  his  other  laig,  at  the  joint,  this 
way.  Savvy?  Brace  youahself  an'  hoi'  tight  an'  he 
cain't  budge.     Now  you  got  him." 

Sitting  as  instructed,  Phil  held  on,  at  the  kicking 
end  of  the  little  bull,  for  dear  life. 

Haney  busied  himself  building  a  fire.     Then  having 


64  BAR   B    BOYS 

put  his  irons  into  the  blaze,  stooping  over  the  bull's 
head,  with  his  pocket-knife  he  cut  the  left  ear  squarely 
across.  A  tiny  stream  of  blood  squirted  out  and 
struck  Phil  in  the  face,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  relax 
his  attitude.  He  was  like  the  man  who  around  the 
tree  has  hold  of  the  bear's  tail. 

"  You  didn't  do  that  to  the  other  one  we  caught," 
he  said. 

**  Dew-lap  the  she-stock  on  this  range ;  square  crop 
the  bulls  an'  steers,"  informed  Haney.  "  Hoi'  tight," 
he  cautioned,  busying  himself  farther.  The  prostrate 
animal  gave  a  succession  of  squirms  most  extraordi- 
narily vigorous,  and  Phil  was  jerked  now  forward, 
now  back. 

"Hold  him,  hold  him,  Smith-Jones,"  encouraged 
Haney,  leaping  to  one  side. 

For  his  life  Phil  clung  to  the  spasmodic  legs;  but 
he  might  as  well,  it  seemed  to  him,  have  "  held  "  an 
earthquake.  One  last  convulsive  thrust  sent  him  fly- 
ing backwards,  head  over  heels  in  the  sage.  He  picked 
himself  up  while  still  in  motion,  alert  to  flee;  but 
Haney  was  sitting  on  the  bull's  head,  and  all  was 
quiet  except  uproarious  laughter. 

On  his  horse,  Chet  was  doubled  over,  shrieking, 
and  Haney  was  indulging  in  extravagant  whoops  of 
glee. 

"Hurt  you?"  called  Chet. 

"  Not  a  bit." 

He  well  might  have  been  mad — and  he  realized 
that  he  was  mad;  but  he  also  realized  that  he  need 
not  have  run,  because  the  bull,  with  a  rope  on  his  neck 


PHIL   HOLDS    THE   RED  BULL         65 

and  another  on  his  hind  leg,  was  helpless.  So  his  in- 
dignation resulted  in  his  promptly  returning  to  his 
post,  and  re-pinioning  the  bull's  hind  quarters. 

"  Smith-Jones  comes  right  back  again.  Cain't  kill 
him,"  remarked  Haney.  He  proceeded  with  the 
branding,  while  the  bull  groaned  and  bellowed. 

"You  want  to  look  out  when  he  gets  up,"  warned 
Chet.     "  He's  got  blood  in  his  eye." 

"  So's  Smith-Jones,"  chuckled  Haney — and  Phil 
wondered  if  he  spoke  literally. 

Haney  had  executed  an  enormous  Bar  B  on  the 
bull's  flank,  and  stepped  back  to  enjoy  it. 

**  There's  a  brand  you'll  see  'foh  you  can  see  the 
caow,"  he  declared,  satisfied. 

"  Only,  this  isn't  a  cow,"  corrected  Phil,  slyly. 

"All  animals  on  the  range  are  caows,"  returned 
Haney.  "  He's  an'  she's,  ol'  an'  young,  all  caows. 
Lemme  get  that  rope  off  his  laig." 

He  slipped  the  noose  off ;  taking  it  to  the  pinto  he 
leisurely  recoiled  it,  and  hung  it  in  place,  and  tied  the 
saddle-iron.  He  returned  to  the  scene  and  put  out 
the  fire  by  a  few  stamps. 

"Here's  youah  rope,  Chet,"  he  announced,  sitting 
on  the  late  victim's  head.  "  You  go  an'  get  on  youah 
hawss,  Smith-Jones.  There's  laikly  to  be  somethin' 
doin',  in  a  minute." 

Without  ceremony  Phil  released  his  hold  upon  the 
animal's  hind  legs  and  ran  for  his  horse.  He  climbed 
aboard,  and  sitting  alert  for  what  might  happen, 
watched. 

With  a  glance  around  to  see  that  all  was  clear, 


6(^  BAR   B    BOYS 

Haney  slowly  arose,  pushing  down  the  bull's  head 
with  his  hands  until  the  last  moment.  With  a  spring 
backward  he  turned  and  ran — not  now  laughing  but 
dead  in  earnest. 

"  Look  out !     He's  coming !  "  shouted  Chet. 

For  an  instant  the  animal  had  lain  as  before;  but 
with  a  sudden  movement  he  had  gained  his  feet  all  at 
once,  so  to  speak,  and  bloody,  enraged,  had  glared 
about  him.  The  first  glimpse  of  Haney's  retreating 
form  had  been  sufficient,  and  now  he  charged,  across 
the  sage,  tail  up,  head  down,  a  compact  bundle  of  out- 
raged dignity. 

''  Look  out !  "  yelped  Chet. 

"  Look  out !  "  cried  Phil. 

Clumsy  in  his  chaps  Haney  stumbled  on  the  brush 
and  pitched  headlong.  On  hands  and  knees  he  ludi- 
crously scrambled,  turning  at  right  angles  just  as  the 
bull,  half  blind  with  rage  and  pain,  swept  past  like  a 
small  red  hurricane,  impaling,  en  route,  the  big  black 
hat. 

Phil  involuntarily  impelled  Pepper  forward,  to  in- 
tercept the  animal  when  it  returned.  He  did  not 
know  what  ought  to  be  done,  but  he  was  plucky 
enough  to  want  to  do  it. 

"  All  ^ight,  Smith-Jones,"  proclaimed  Haney, 
breathlessly,  from  the  saddle  which  he  had  miracu- 
lously gained.     "  Want  my  hat,  now." 

He  spurred  his  pinto  toward  the  enemy,  who,  hav- 
ing lost  the  hat,  had  wheeled,  and  was  standing,  low- 
ering and  sullenly  bellowing. 

"  If  you  wa'n't  wuth  twenty-five  dollars  to  the  Bar 


PHIL    HOLDS    THE   RED   BULL         67 

B,  I'd  suhtinly  bust  youah  naik,  laik  yuh  almost  busted 
mine,"  addressed  Haney.     "  Gimme  that  hat." 

Within  a  few  feet  of  the  bull  he  coolly  leaned  from 
the  saddle  and  picked  his  hat  from  amidst  the  brush. 
At  the  same  instant,  the  enemy,  seeing  the  man  sepa- 
rate himself  from  the  horse,  charged  again ;  the  pinto 
jumped  aside,  and  Haney,  almost  unseated,  was  borne 
away  clinging  like  a  Comanche — or  (but  Phil  would 
not  have  dared  say  so)  like  a  monkey. 

"All  right,  Mistuh  Red,"  called  Haney.  "Cain't 
fool  with  yuh  any  moh.    Jes'  wanted  my  hat." 

So  they  left  the  sturdy  little  fellow  in  possession. 
As  long  as  they  could  see  him  he  was  standing  there 
in  an  attitude  of  offense  and  defense. 

"  Expect  he  would  have  hurt  some  if  he'd  struck 
you,  wouldn't  he  ?  "  asked  Phil. 

"  Made  me  black  an'  blue,  I  reckon,"  quoth  Haney, 
carelessly. 

"  Just  a  knock  from  a  calf  leaves  a  spot  that  lasts 
six  weeks,"  supplemented  Chet.  "  Remember  where 
I  got  bunted,  last  fall,  Haney?" 

Haney  nodded.    He  sang,  in  an  easy  tenor : 

"  Little   black   bull    come   daown  the   mountain, 
Daown  the  mountain,  daown  the  mountain; 
Little  black  bull  come  daown  the  mountain, 
Long  time  ago  I  " 

"  Ought  to  be  a  little  red  bull,"  corrected  Chet. 

"  No,  suh,"  said  Haney,  stubbornly.  "  That  's  a 
good  ol'  song  o'  the  Texas  trail,  an'  cain't  be  changed 
for  nobody." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

PHIL   IS    LOST    AGAIN 

They  rode  on  up  the  draw,  which  gradually  nar- 
rowed— on  the  right  hand  high  rim-rock,  on  the  left 
heavily  wooded  slopes.  Haney  obliqued  to  the  left, 
and  followed  a  trail  which  climbed  into  the  timber. 
He  pointed  down  beside  him. 

"See  that,  Smith-Jones?"  he  directed.  "Big  ol' 
bear  travelin'  same  way  we  are.  Went  along  here 
this  mohnin'." 

"  Not  a  very  big  one,  Haney,"  criticised  Chet ; 
"we've  seen  lots  bigger  tracks  than  this." 

The  prints  in  the  dust  were  half  as  long  as  Phil's 
forearm,  and  seemed  to  him  plenty  big  enough.  It 
looked  as  though  a  person  with  a  very  fiat  foot,  number 
12,  had  walked  bare-soled. 

"  One  o'  those  kind  o'  bear  that  weighs  two  hun- 
dred pounds  'foh  you  meet  him,  and  ten  hundred 
when  you  do  meet  him.  Want  to  ketch  up  with  him, 
Smith-Jones?" 

"Not  unless  you  do,"  retorted  Phil,  determined  to 
hold  his  own. 

"  Done  had  my  fight,  this  mohnin',"  said  Haney. 

The  tracks  continued  some  distance,  then  ceased, 
much  to  Phil's  relief. 

"  Bear  are  comin'  out  o*  their  holes  an'  travelin* 
foh  somethin'  to  eat,"  explained  Haney. 

68 


PHIL   IS    LOST    AGAIN  69 

They  wound  up,  single  file,  to  the  top  of  the  slope, 
and  Haney  broke  into  a  trot  again.  The  trail  twisted 
and  turned  among  the  cedars;  Phil  found  himself 
continually  dodging  boughs  and  branches,  and  having 
to  keep  a  keen  look-out  that  his  legs  were  not  scraped 
against  trunks.  There  was  an  excitement  about  such 
a  gait. 

The  atmosphere  here  was  different  from  that  down 
in  the  sage.  Sun  and  shade  mingled,  and  the  scent 
of  cedar  was  strong.  The  ground  was  covered  with 
their  dried  fronds,  and  with  the  needles  of  pines ;  and 
moist  spots,  from  the  melting  snows  above  permeat- 
ing through,  were  frequent.  Several  times  little 
springs  were  encountered ;  but  thirsty  as  he  was,  Phil 
did  not  dare  to  dismount  and  drink,  for  it  was  all  he 
could  do,  on  Pepper  (who  took  advantage  of  the 
absence  of  spurs),  to  keep  Chet  in  sight.  Both  the 
pinto  and  Chet's  horse  seemed  to  trot  faster. 

Trot,  trot,  trot,  dodging  branches,  circumventing 
quick  turns,  and  peering  anxiously  ahead  to  see  what 
was  coming  next.  Trot,  trot,  trot,  with  the  stirrups 
eating  into  the  flesh  and  the  saddle-seams  rubbing 
more  and  more.  Trot,  trot,  trot,  ever  in  danger  of 
being  left  behind.  And  where  was  that  bear  who  had 
followed  the  trail  not  many  hours  before? 

The  trail  began  to  descend.  Phil  found  the  trotting 
down-hill  much  more  uncomfortable  than  the  trotting 
on  the  level ;  for  in  dodging  the  branches  he  was  con- 
stantly being  thrown  against  the  saddle-horn,  and 
even  upon  Pepper's  neck.  After  an  interminable  time, 
during  which  Chet  and  Haney  seemed  to  have  van- 


70  BAR   B    BOYS 

ished,  he  and  Pepper  emerged  at  the  bottom  of  an- 
other draw,  where,  much  to  his  relief,  Chet  was  wait- 
ing. 

Beyond,  some  cattle  were  grazing,  and  Haney  was 
riding  toward  them,  to  inspect.  Having  circled  them, 
he  turned  and  rode  up  the  slope,  without  coming  back ; 
and  saying,  "  He's  going  on,"  Chet  started  to  over- 
take him. 

Phil  stuck  close  to  Chet's  heels.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  where  he  was — the  twists  and  turns  had 
been  so  frequent — nor  where  lay  the  ranch.  To  lose 
Chet  now  would  certainly  be  a  calamity,  for  this  was 
the  heart  of  the  wilderness. 

They  had  left  the  trail,  and  were  cutting  across 
through  the  thousand  cedars;  weaving  in  and  out 
among  the  crooked  trunks  and  low  branches.  Evi- 
dences of  cattle  were  everywhere;  under  some  of  the 
cedars  cattle  must  have  spent  many  hours,  collected 
there  out  of  the  storms.  While  Phil  was  wondering 
where  on  earth  Chet  was  going,  close  behind  him  he 
came  out  into  a  natural  park  of  grass  and  flowers; 
ahead,  Haney,  small  amidst  the  vastness  of  space, 
was  climbing  the  slope  of  a  hill. 

At  the  top  he  halted  a  moment;  then  in  an  instant 
he  dashed  over  and  down. 

"  He  sees  some  cattle ;  hurry  up,"  exclaimed  Chet ; 
and  veering  to  circumvent  the  base  of  the  hill  he,  too, 
with  a  jump,  was  off  at  full  speed. 

Frantically  as  he  would  kick  Pepper  in  the  ribs, 
Phil  perceived  himself  being  left.  Chet  disappeared 
among  the  cedars,  and  Phil's  course  was  still  slower, 


I 


PHIL    IS    LOST   AGAIN  71 

because  the  branches  were  threatening  to  sweep  him, 
every  moment,  from  the  saddle.  Pepper  persisted  in 
trotting  instead  of  galloping;  now  and  then  he  would 
sulkily  settle  to  a  walk.  He  was  soldiering,  was 
Pepper. 

Wellnigh  crying  with  vexation,  Phil  pressed  on  in 
the  direction  where  Chet  had  apparently  been  making. 
There  was  a  tremendous  crashing  and  crackling.  His 
heart  leaped  into  his  mouth.  Running  like  a  deer  a 
black  calf  crossed  close  in  front  of  them — and  here, 
relentless  on  its  heels,  riding  like  a  demon,  reins  loose 
on  his  pinto's  neck,  leaning  forward  and  swinging  his 
rope,  followed  Haney,  careening  through  the  trees  as 
if  he  bore  a  charmed  life.  Leaving  a  wake  of  broken 
branches  and  crackling  twigs  and  brush,  he  plunged 
from  sight  again. 

Phil  hauled  on  the  bit  and  kicked  Pepper  in  the 
ribs,  turning  him  on  Haney's  trail.  All  was  silence — 
until  abruptly  another  crackling  and  crashing  sounded. 
This  time  it  was  Chet,  seemingly  as  mad  as  Haney, 
pursuing  a  bounding,  blatting,  panic-stricken  red  calf. 
Phil  quickly  changed  his  course,  to  follow  Chet.  The 
tracks  of  calf  and  of  horse  were  plain  for  a  hundred 
yards ;  then  both  were  obliterated  on  a  flat  bed  of  rock ; 
nor  did  they  appear  again,  no  matter  how  closely  he 
searched. 

Phil  halted  Pepper,  (who  was  perfectly  willing  to 
halt),  and  listened  anxiously.  Not  a  sound.  He  was 
alone.    Now,  what  should  he  do? 

The  air  was  warm  and  heavy  with  the  scent  of  the 
cedars.    While  he  listened,  straining  his  ears,  motion- 


72  BAR   B    BOYS 

less,  the  hum  of  insects  arose  again,  jays  began  to 
scream  derisively,  and  the  claws  of  a  squirrel  rasped 
upon  the  bark  as  he  scrambled  down  a  pine.  All  this 
added  to  the  lonesomeness  of  the  situation.  Phil  won- 
dered what  he  ought  to  do.  Had  he  better  wait  right 
here,  and  let  Chet  and  Haney  look  for  him?  Or  had 
he  better  look  for  Chet  and  Haney?  He  had  read 
that,  when  lost,  one  should  stay  upon  the  spot,  and 
one  would  be  found  easier.  But  he  had  wandered 
from  the  spot,  and  now  had  not  the  slightest  idea 
where  it  was! 

All  of  a  sudden  his  ear  caught  another  noise — this 
time  not  so  much  a  rattling  as  a  rustling;  but  never- 
theless it  indicated  the  approach  of  some  moving 
body.  Hopefully  he  gazed ;  it  would  be  either  Haney 
or  Chet;  and  he  was  about  to  utter  a  guiding 
"Whoo-ee,"  when  he  SAW!  Ambling  briskly 
through  the  cedars,  and  now  almost  upon  him  where 
he  had  been  sitting  so  motionless,  came  a  big  dark- 
brown  bear  between  two  cubs.  She  stopped  and 
glanced  behind  her,  as  if  apprehensive;  then  she 
started,  trotting  on  again,  toeing  in,  head  low,  shaggy 
and  cumbersome. 

Phil  stared,  his  eyes  popping,  his  heart  in  his  throat. 
He  could  scarcely  believe.  He  had  a  vague  notion 
that  he  would  let  her  pass;  maybe  she  would  not  mo- 
lest him. 

She  stopped  short. 

"  Whoof,"  she  snorted,  wrinkling  her  nose,  peer- 
ing before  her  at  Phil  and  Pepper. 

"Whoof!"   snorted   Pepper,    turning  head.       His 


PHIL   IS   LOST    AGAIN  73 

nostrils  flared  wide.  "Whoof!"  he  repeated,  out  of 
sides  distended  as  if  they  would  burst  the  girth. 

"  Whoof !  '*  reiterated  the  bear,  rearing  to  her 
haunches,  and  towering,  it  seemed  to  Phil,  as  high  as 
the  cedars.  "Whoof!''  Her  teeth  snapped  angrily, 
her  fur  stiffened.  Beside  her  the  cubs  each  reared  in 
imitation. 

"Whoof!"  retorted  Pepper.  He  was  trembling 
violently,  and  half  crouching  as  though  his  legs  were 
giving  away  beneath  him,  he  backed,  step  by  step. 
With  a  whirl  which  nearly  snapped  Phil's  head  off, 
and  made  him  grab  desperately  at  the  horn,  Pepper 
bolted. 

Jump  after  jump,  each  apparently  longer  and 
harder  than  the  last,  away  he  tore  through  brush  and 
branch,  blind  with  fear;  and  Phil,  ducking  low  upon 
his  back,  clung  with  both  arms  around  his  neck — a 
humble  posture,  but  the  most  secure.  It  would  take  a 
fast  bear  to  catch  them — but  everything  that  he  ever 
had  read  about  the  fleetness  of  bears  swarmed  into  his 
mind.  On  the  level  they  could  beat  a  horse — could 
they  not?  And  this  was  an  old  she-bear  with  cubs! 
Haney  and  Chet  must  have  disturbed  her. 

Phil's  back  crawled  as  he  imagined  claws  ripping 
into  it ;  he  did  not  venture  to  look  behind ;  he  had  too 
much  to  do  to  avoid  the  cedar  boughs.  Emerging 
from  the  timber  into  an  open  grassy  space  Pepper 
rushed,  with  increased  speed,  straight  across,  and  on 
up  a  hill.  His  jumps  became  more  laborious;  and  on 
the  crest  of  a  hill  he  halted,  to  gaze  rearward,  snort- 
ing, staring  wildly,  seeking  for  a  pursuer. 


74  BAR   B    BOYS 

Nothing  moved.  The  open  space  was  devoid  o* 
bear. 

"  Whoof !  "  challenged  Pepper,  panting  and  wheez- 
ing. 

Phil  patted  him  proudly  upon  the  neck. 

Now  Phil  felt  that  he  was  more  emphatically  lost 
than  ever.  Pepper,  with  the  sang-froid  of  the  dumb 
animal,  wild  or  domestic,  occasionally  pausing  to 
snort  and  look,  proceeded  to  graze,  while  from  the 
saddle  his  rider  surveyed  the  land.  The  hillcrest  was 
an  excellent  vantage  point. 

A  panorama  wellnigh  bewildering  in  its  vastness 
lay  outspread.  The  hill,  with  grassy  sides  whereon 
flowers  nodded  and  occasional  rocks  upstuck,  sloped 
on  the  one  side  into  the  cedars,  separated  from  its 
base  by  a  grassy,  flowery  level  stretch,  and  on  the 
other  side  fell  away  into  a  valley  heavily  timbered 
with  pines,  beyond  which  a  ridge  of  the  dark  green, 
topped  with  snow,  shut  off  further  view.  Beyond  the 
cedars,  across  the  grassy  space  below,  was  a  cafion 
or  draw ;  and  beyond  that  Phil  saw  mile  after  mile  of 
flat -top  mesas  or  table-lands,  divided  by  little  canons 
so  numerous  and  so  irregular  that  they  might  have 
been  cracks  in  mud  after  the  sun  has  shone. 

Somewhere  in  this  direction,  which  by  the  sun  was 
north,  lay  the  Bar  B  ranch.  Scrutinizing  the  cedars, 
the  valley  of  pines,  the  grassy  space,  Phil  could  make 
out  not  a  moving  living  thing.  He  "  Whoo-eed  " ; 
and  waited,  and  "  whoo-eed  "  again.  And  for  luck, 
a  third  time. 

He  dismounted,  and  with  lines  in  hand  sat  down, 


PHIL   IS    LOST   AGAIN  75 

allowing  Pepper  to  graze  meantime  where  the  grasses, 
self-cured  and  long,  were  mingled  with  the  fresh  and 
shorter.  The  sunshine  was  warm,  the  air  was  sweet, 
and  from  his  hill-top  Phil,  lolling,  gazed  about,  mon- 
arch of  all  he  surveyed.  He  rather  enjoyed  the  ex- 
perience. 

However,  the  sun  was  high;  by  its  position  he 
judged  that  the  time  must  be  about  noon.  He  began 
to  grow  uneasy;  if  he  was  not  going  to  be  found 
(how  deserted  of  life  this  great  region  was,  anyway!) 
he  had  better  be  doing  something  definite;  and  that 
was,  be  getting  back  to  the  ranch,  if  definiteness 
could  be  attached  to  such  an  indefinite  undertaking. 

Yes,  somewhere  in  that  direction  lay  the  Bar  B 
ranch.  He  had  no  idea  how  far  they  had  come — 
twenty  miles,  maybe,  at  least,  by  the  sore  places  he 
had.  He  strained  his  eyes,  peering;  but  no  Bar  B 
ranch  could  he  make  out,  no,  nor  sign  of  anything 
human.  Mesa  after  mesa,  separated  by  those  crack- 
like draws  and  canons,  under  the  blue  sky,  met  his 
vision,  until  they  merged  with  the  azure  mountain 
range,  far  north. 

He  tried  to  figure  out  what  a  boy  in  a  book  would 
do  under  such  circumstances.  A  boy  in  a  book  usu- 
ally did  the  right  thing.  One  thing  that  he  had  read 
and  remembered  was,  when  lost  to  follow  the  nearest 
stream  down;  it  would  eventually  lead  to  a  larger 
stream,  and  onward  to  habitations.  There  was  no 
stream  up  here;  this  was  a  dry  country,  despite  the 
melting  snows.  By  obliquing  toward  the  east  he 
ought  to  cut  Owl  Creek,  and  he  could  follow  that 


ye  BAR  B    BOYS 

down  to  the  ranch;  could  he  not?  He  knew  that 
Haney  and  Chet  and  he  had  crossed  the  creek;  and 
they  had  taken  a  general  course  west  and  south,  be- 
cause their  backs  had  been  against  the  sun.  But  in 
the  cedars  they  had  gone  every  which  way. 

Supposing  that  he  didn't  find  the  ranch,  and  should 
have  to  spend  the  night,  still  lost?  Br-r-r!  He  had 
matches  and  a  knife,  and  he  could  tie  Pepper — ^but  if 
a  bear  should  come,  and  Pepper  should  run  away,  and 
he  himself  should  chmb  a  tree,  and  the  bear  should 
climb  after  him — that  was  not  a  pleasant  prospect. 
It  would  be  mighty  lonesome — out  in  the  open  wil- 
derness— after  dark — with  bears  and  wolves  and  what- 
not prowling  around. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    CAMP   IN   THE   ARROYO 

All  such  thoughts  were  passing  through  his  mind, 
when  a  mile  or  more  away,  below,  on  the  edge  of  that 
first  draw,  he  distinguished  a  speck  moving.  His  heart 
leaped.  That  must  be  either  Chet  or  Haney,  or  both, 
looking  for  him  or  homeward  bound  and  deserting 
him.  With  a  shrill  prolonged  yell  he  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and  waved  both  arms.  Pepper  gazed  inquir- 
ingly. But  the  yell  fell  flat  in  the  great  void  of  earth 
and  sky,  and  the  specks  moved  on  without  a  waver. 
Phil  yelled  repeatedly;  and  climbing  hastily  into  the 
saddle  he  still  yelled,  and  riding  down  at  an  ex- 
cruciating trot,  urging  the  reluctant  Pepper,  he 
yelled  at  intervals.  Probably  his  voice  did  not  pene- 
trate a  third  the  space,  in  the  clear  air  distances  being 
so  deceiving. 

He  rode  as  fast  as  he  could,  hope  springing  in  his 
breast,  down  from  the  hill  and  across  the  grass  and 
through  the  fringing  cedars;  and  soon  he  began  to 
look  sharp  for  tracks.  This,  he  felt  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, was  the  proper  thing  to  do.  Luckily,  he 
found  them,  crossing  his  own  route;  the  prints  of 
hoofs  in  the  soft  soil  and  the  fresh  scratch  of  a  horse's 
shoe  where  the  animal  had  scraped  a  log. 

"  Whoo-ee-ee ! "  yelled  Phil,  turning  Pepper  in 
pursuit.    He  had  to  proceed  very  slowly,  because  now 

77 


78  BAR   B    BOYS 

and  then  he  over-rode  the  trail,  as  it  veered ;  occasion- 
ally he  lost  it  entirely,  and  must  stop  and  cast  about 
on  foot.  It  struck  him  as  strange  that  Chet  and 
Haney  did  not  hear  him  or  keep  on  the  outlook  for 
him,  or — or  something-.  Confound  them,  anyway! 
It  was  pretty  mean  of  them,  to  go  straight  along  this 
way ;  never,  so  far  as  he  could  make  out,  even  pausing 
to  listen.     Presently  he  lost  the  tracks  entirely. 

The  trail  had  been  skirting  the  rim  of  a  deep  draw 
with  sagy  bottom  and  sheer  gravelly  sides.  Phil  de- 
cided that  as  soon  as  he  could  he  would  descend 
into  the  draw,  and  follow  that  to  its  lower  end,  and 
see  where  he  came  out.  He  continued  for  some  time, 
hoping  every  moment  to  arrive  at  a  place  where  he 
and  Pepper  might  slide  down  in.  Once  or  twice  he 
turned  Pepper's  head,  but  Pepper  hesitated  and  pro- 
tested as  if  the  spot  was  too  steep,  so  Phil  resumed  the 
onward  march. 

But  now  Pepper  turned  of  his  own  accord  where  a 
cattle  trail,  narrow  but  packed,  cut  diagonally  down 
the  slope,  and  willingly  followed  it.  Far  ahead  were 
the  two  specks,  again. 

"  Whoo-ee-ee,"  yelled  Phil,  and  urged  Pepper  into 
a  bucking  trot  down  the  trail. 

When  next  he  lifted  his  eyes  the  specks  had  disap- 
peared. 

The  cattle  path  slanted  on  to  the  bottom,  where  it 
dipped  into  a  deep  arroyo,  emerged  again,  and  pro- 
ceeded, in  what  Phil  intuitively  felt  was  the  wrong 
direction,  through  the  draw,  to  the  farther  side.  Here 
it  terminated  at  a  dried  water  hole. 


THE    CAMP   IN    THE    ARROYO         79 

And  here  Pepper  halted.  Before  was  a  wall  of 
rock  dotted  with  cactus,  now  budded,  and  with  bunch- 
grass  and  sage.  Lizards  scampered  from  crack  to 
crack.  From  the  water  hole  cattle-prints  diverged  in 
all  directions,  but  there  was  no  trail. 

By  the  sun,  which  cast  his  shadow  and  Pepper's 
shadow  slightly  to  the  left,  Phil  knew  that  if  he  rode 
down  the  draw  he  would  be  riding  east,  which  was 
toward  Owl  Creek.  The  draw  was  still  and  very  hot. 
On  the  top  of  the  cliff  sat  a  great  hawk,  motionless, 
and  above  sailed  around  and  around  a  pair  of  buz- 
zards. After  he  had  ridden  through  sage  and  weeds 
and  scattered  blades  of  grass  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
the  draw  broadened;  and  as  he  was  rejoicing  at  this 
sign  he  found  his  way  abruptly  cut  by  another  ar- 
royo,  entering  with  a  side  draw. 

This  arroyo  was  perpendicular.  He  tried  the  angle 
of  the  two,  and  found  no  descent ;  he  rode  up  the  new 
arroyo,  still  trying,  until  the  draw  narrowed  to  a 
cafion,  and  pinched  out,  with  a  steep,  slippery  pitch. 

Baffled  and  feeling  that  he  would  gain  nothing  by 
continuing  in  this  direction,  Phil  turned  Pepper,  and 
galloped  back,  retracing  his  way  along  the  main  ar- 
royo. He  could  at  least  get  into  this  by  the  trail 
which  had  crossed  it,  and  following  it  down  he  would 
emerge  somehow,  somewhere. 

Not  until  he  had  gone  back  clear  to  the  trail  was  he 
abk  to  enter.  The  bottom  was  soft  sand,  tracked  by 
innumerable  hoof-prints  of  cattle.  The  banks  were 
almost  straight,  and  so  soft  that  even  on  foot  he 
would  not  be  able  to  scale  them.     He  was  shut  in. 


So  BAR   B    BOYS 

Pepper,  with  nose  and  ears  expectant,  paced  amiably 
along,  rounding  turn  after  turn.  And  then,  suddenly, 
they  were  right  upon  three  men,  loafing  while  they  ate 
a  lunch  in  the  shade  cast  by  over-jutting  brush. 

A  few  steps  below,  across  from  the  men,  a  girl  in 
dingy  frock  and  battered  slouch  hat  sat  flat  in  an 
angle  of  the  bank,  amidst  the  dirt.  Further  on,  four 
horses  and  two  burros  stood,  dozing,  unsaddled,  the 
horses  with  backs  wet. 

All  gazed  inquiringly:  the  men  with  a  certain  fur- 
tive alertness,  as  though  apprehending,  looked  beyond 
Phil.  No  one  following  him,  they  exchanged  swift 
glances. 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  accosted  Phil. 

"How,"  said  one  of  the  men;  the  two,  his  com- 
rades, grunted,  and  turning,  continued  to  munch. 

The  man  who  had  spoken  had  but  one  eye ;  the  other 
eye-ball  was  gone.  The  man  at  his  elbow  appeared 
to  be  smiling ;  but  as  the  smile  never  waned,  Phil  con- 
cluded, finally,  that  it  was  a  set  expression,  as  if  a 
smile  was  frozen  on  his  face. 

The  girl  might  have  been  pretty  had  she  not  been 
so  grimy.  But  the  arroyo  was  a  dirty  place,  and 
moreover  was  laden  with  an  effluvium  as  of  decaying 
animal  matter.  Phil  recalled  that  he  had  encountered 
a  similar  stench  at  a  tanning  shop,  back  home. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  the  Bar  B  ranch  is  ? " 
asked  Phil. 

The  man  with  the  frozen  smile  deliberately  dipped, 
from  a  hole  about  which  they  were  clustered,  a  tin 
cup  of  water,  and  drank.     Phil  watched  him  thirstily. 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE   ARROYO  8i 

"No/'  he  said.     "You  from  there?'* 

"Yes,  and  I  want  to  get  back,"  explained  Phil. 

The  three  men  glanced  again;  and  the  third  man 
arose,  and  withdrew  down  the  miniature  canon.  He 
limped,  one  leg  being  shorter  than  the  other! 

Phil's  heart  jumped  and  he  involuntarily  gasped. 
'Twas  the  man  with  the  limp — the  left-handed  man 
with  the  limp,  whom  he  had  witnessed  hunting  him 
with  a  revolver,  in  the  forest,  that  dreadful  evening! 
And  so  here  they  were — the  three  rustlers  and  the 
girl !  He  was  right  in  their  hands.  Would  they  rec- 
ognize him?     Whew! 

"  Never  heard  of  it,''  said  the  man  with  the  one 
eye.     "  Did  you?  "  he  asked  of  his  companion. 

"  No,"  said  the  man  with  the  frozen  smile. 

"These  are  Bar  B  cattle,  around  here,"  stammered 
Phil.     "  A  Bar  B  on  the  left  hip." 

"  We  don't  care  anything  about  cattle.  Travelin' 
through,  is  all,"  declared  the  man  with  the  frozen 
smile,  grimly. 

"  Killed  a  wild  maverick,  with  a  busted  leg,  for 
meat,  is  all,"  quoth  the  one-eyed  man.  "  What's  your 
brand,  you  say — Bar  B?" 

"Yes;  a  B  with  a  bar  over  it." 

"Hain't  noticed  it,"  he  grunted. 

There  was  nothing  cordial  about  the  party.  The 
girl  stared,  the  two  men  surlily  continued  to  eat  and 
drink,  the  other  man  had  mysteriously  disappeared. 
Nobody  asked  him  to  dismount,  or  eat  or  drink,  and 
he  was  glad  of  it. 

"  I  suppose  if  I  keep  on  down  this  (he  could  not 


82  BAR   B    BOYS 

think  of  the  right  word)  ravine  I'll  come  out  some- 
where?" he  hazarded. 

"  Suppose  jou  will,  if  you  ride  fur  enough." 

"How  far,  do  you  think?" 

"  Dunno." 

"  I  know.  You'll "  spoke  up  the  girl,  brighten- 
ing, eagerly. 

"  Shut  up.  You  don't  know  nothin',"  intercepted 
the  man  with  the  one  eye. 

"  Well,"  said  Phil,  "  I'll  try  it  and  see.  I  tried  to 
ride  on  the  ground,  up  above,  but  another  one  of  these 
things  cut  me  off." 

Nobody  answered.  Decidedly,  he  was  unwelcome, 
and  he  hoped  that  there  would  be  no  objection  to  his 
leaving. 

"  So  long,"  he  said,  starting  Pepper,  and  passing 
on. 

"So  long,"  said  the  man  with  the  one  eye,  gruffly. 

Before  he  had  rounded  the  next  turn  of  the  arroyo 
he  looked  behind  him.  The  girl,  who  evidently  had 
been  watching  him,  gave  a  quick  little  flirt  of  her 
hand,  by  her  side.  Phil  gallantly  waved  back,  and  as 
he  did  so  he  glimpsed  the  one-eyed  man  spring  up  and 
stride  at  her.  Then  the  turn  hid  the  group  from 
view. 

The  stench,  which  had  been  noticeable  before,  grew 
stronger  to  Phil  as  he  again  rode  down  the  arroyo; 
when  he  came  to  the  intersection  of  the  two  arroyos 
it  assailed  him  stronger  than  ever;  a  number  of  cat- 
tle tracks  turned  into  the  passage  which  opened  on 
his  left,  and  Pepper  showed  an  inclination  to  turn, 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE    ARROYO         83 

also.  Possibly  this  was  a  way  out,  to  Owl  Creek ;  but 
as  he  hesitated  the  man  with  the  limp  arose  from 
where  he  had  been  sitting,  unobserved,  under  the 
bank  at  the  second  arroyo's  mouth.  He  had  a  rifle 
in  the  crook  of  his  right  arm. 

"  Coin'  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  slight  emphasis  which  was 
unmistakable. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Is  this  the  way  out  ?  "  replied  Phil, 
much  startled. 

"  That's  one  way,"  said  the  man. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  maybe  if  I  turned  off  here " 

"Turn  off  nothin',"  rebuked  the  man,  roughly. 
"  This  here  arroyer  don't  lead  nowhere.  You'd  bet- 
ter keep  straight  on,  an'  if  I  were  you  I'd  move  along 
right  lively,  or  the  coyotes  '11  get  you.  Lots  o'  coyotes 
in  the  arroyer." 

"Yes,  sir.  I  will,"  said  Phil.  He  attempted  to 
be  jocular.  "  Whew,"  he  sniffed,  with  a  grimace. 
"  Rather  strong  around  here,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Dead  critter,  is  all,"  answered  the  man,  carelessly. 
Then  he  frowned.  "  Git,"  he  ordered.  "  An'  don't 
come  back  again,  either." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Phil.  'Twas  best  to  be  polite.  The 
rifle  and  the  man  both  had  an  ugly  look;  the  arroyo 
was  very  deep.  He  promptly  kicked  Pepper  with  his 
heels,  and  proceeded,  looking  not  back,  but  conscious 
that  the  man  was  standing  watching  them. 

Within  a  few  yards  another  arroyo  entered  the 
main  one — this  time  from  the  right;  but  Pepper 
passed  it  willingly  and  trotted  more  briskly,  with  ear 
pointed  ahead.    Phil  decided  that  they  were  upon  thQ 


84  BAR   B    BOYS 

right  road,  because  the  water  in  the  arroyo,  when 
there  had  been  water,  had  flowed  in  the  direction 
for  which  they  were  heading,  as  evidenced  by  a  leaning 
bush,  now  and  then,  and  lodged  masses  of  debris. 
But  the  arroyo  to-day  was  as  dry  as  a  bone. 

The  stench  was  left  behind.  It  had  centered  at  the 
arroyo  mouth  where  the  man  with  the  limp  had  been 
on  guard.  Turn  after  turn  did  Pepper  round,  but  the 
steep,  soft,  unscalable  banks  still  continued.  Cattle 
tracks  and  the  tracks  of  coyotes  were  quite  thick ;  and 
once,  at  a  turn,  Phil  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  yellowish 
bushy-tailed  form,  about  the  size  of  a  water-spaniel, 
just  disappearing  around  the  next  turn.  He  urged 
Pepper,  but  that  next  turn,  when  circumvented,  re- 
vealed nothing  ahead  except  the  usual  monotony  of 
the  sand  and  the  'dobe  and  the  struggling  bushes  of 
the  miniature  caiion. 

It  seemed  to  Phil  that  he  must  have  ridden,  thus  en- 
closed by  two  unending  walls,  for  a  mile,  and  he  was 
beginning  to  worry  over  his  helplessness,  and  peer 
more  anxiously  at  the  banks,  looking  for  any  kind 
of  a  spot  that  promised  possible  ascent,  when  release 
came.  A  cattle  trail  crossed  the  arroyo;  entering 
obliquely  on  the  one  hand,  and  slanting  out  again  on 
the  other. 

It  was  a  nice  question  to  decide  whether  to  take 
the  right-hand  ascent,  or  the  left-hand;  but  despite 
the  windings  of  the  crooked  arroyo  Phil  had  the  in- 
tuitive fancy  that  the  ranch  lay  on  the  left,  and  ahead. 
So  he  allowed  Pepper  to  climb  the  trail  which  slanted 
away  from  them,  up  the  left-hand  bank. 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE    ARROYO         85 

Pepper,  snorting  and  willing,  climbed,  and  on  the 
summit  halted  to  look  about. 

Phil  found  that  they  were  still  in  a  draw;  but 
whether  it  was  the  same  draw  he  could  not  tell.  Even 
out  of  his  short  experience  he  was  finding  that  there 
is  a  sameness  in  the  mesa  country.  This  present  draw 
was  bounded  on  the  left  (according  to  the  sun,  the 
northeast)  and  on  the  right  (or  southeast)  by  ledges 
and  cedars.  The  cattle  trail  continued  through  it, 
coming  in  from  both  sides.  Before,  the  draw  ap- 
peared to  close.  Starting  Pepper  again,  Phil  followed 
the  trail. 

Pepper  sometimes  ambled,  sometimes  trotted;  and 
Phil  was  so  hot  and  dry  and  tired  that  he  did  not  care 
what  was  the  gait  as  long  as  they  got  somewhere.  The 
draw  slightly  narrowed,  then  opened  into  another 
draw;  the  trail  veered,  and  headed  into  a  bunch  of 
cattle — cows  and  steers  and  calves,  standing  stupidly, 
grazing  in  a  desultory  manner,  lying  peacefully,  or 
walking  sedately  along.  There  were  many  with  the 
Bar  B  brand;  and  Phil  welcomed  this  sign  as  some- 
thing friendly,  at  least.  Others  bore  different  brands 
—a  J  on  its  back,  an  R  looked  at  from  the  wrong 
side,  as  it  were,  etc.  Alone  in  the  midst  of  these 
staring  animals,  who  seemed  to  be  preparing  to  take 
the  offensive  as  he  drew  near,  Phil  felt  uneasy;  and 
particularly  did  he  feel  so  when  an  enormous  shaggy 
bull,  with  white  face  and  bloodshot  eyes,  lowered  his 
head,  rumbled,  and  pawed  the  ground.  An  answering 
rumble  sounded  from  the  cedar  ledges  on  the  right, 
and   another  bull  advanced   across   slowly,   likewise 


86  BAR   B    BOYS 

rumbling  and  pawing.  Phil  did  not  wait  to  see  the 
combat;  but  on  Pepper,  who  was  not  a  whit  abashed 
and  rather  seemed  to  anticipate  chasing  every  animal 
in  his  path,  pushed  on.  The  trail  veered,  crossed  the 
draw,  and  brought  up  in  an  angle  between  rim-rock, 
where  another  bunch  of  cattle,  old  and  young,  were 
gathered  about  a  water-hole. 

Phil  found  his  progress  barred.  Then  the  trail 
had  led  to  only  the  usual  watering-place  and  he  had 
been  traveling  only  a  box  canon !  He  could  have  cried 
with  vexation ;  for  where  he  was,  now,  he  had  not  the 
slightest  idea.  The  cattle  in  the  hole  waded  reluc- 
tantly out  as  he  and  Pepper  drew  up  on  the  edge. 
Pepper  took  a  long  luxurious  drink ;  Phil  wished  that 
he  might  do  the  same,  but  the  green  scum  on  the 
water  and  the  white  stains  of  alkali  along  the  borders 
deterred  him. 

In  the  direction  whither  he  had  been  riding  the  rim- 
rock  and  the  cedar  ledges  came  together,  it  seemed, 
barring  exit.  But  as  he  surveyed,  with  sinking  heart, 
he  perceived  that  having  spread  out  thin,  as  it  were, 
about  the  water  hole,  the  trail,  or  another  trail, 
reached  out,  skirting  the  rim-rock.  He  directed  Pep- 
per toward  it,  and  they  followed,  to  find  that  where 
rim-rock  and  opposite  ledges  appeared  to  meet  was 
a  narrow  pass,  with  the  trail  precariously  cutting 
along  it.  There  was  scarcely  room  for  Phil's  left  leg, 
while  the  other  hung  down  over  a  bouldered  stream 
bed  which  was  but  a  continuation  of  a  shallow  ar- 
royo. 

Having  traversed  this  draw  the  travelers  entered 


THE    CAMP    IN    THE   ARROYO         87 

another.  Draw  after  draw  succeeded,  like  a  succes- 
sion of  loops ;  with  Phil  ever  hopefully  looking  ahead, 
expecting  that  at  last  he  was  to  emerge  somewhere. 
Pepper  trotted  ever  more  and  more  confidently;  and 
coming  out  into  a  wide,  sagy  bottom,  speckled  with 
cattle,  he  turned  of  his  own  accord  into  a  trail  which 
cut  northward,  and  followed  that.  Nothing  looked 
familiar  to  Phil;  not  even  the*  snowy  ridges  to  the 
south,  and  to  the  north;  and  while  he  was  pondering 
and  hoping,  and  wondering  where  he  was  coming  out, 
from  the  top  of  a  little  rise  which  Pepper  topped  he 
suddenly  looked  down  upon  a  creek,  with  ranch  build- 
ings upon  the  other  side. 

It  was  the  Bar  B.  This  last  flat  had  been  the  one 
up  which  he  and  Chet  and  Haney  had  ridden,  after 
leaving  the  ranch  that  morning.  And  he  felt  rather 
silly  that  he  had  not  recognized  it. 

Only  the  ford  remained  to  be  achieved.  Pepper 
surged  through  and  hastening  up  the  creek  bank  trot^ 
ted  into  the  ranch  yard. 


CHAPTER   X 

OLD    JESS   INSTRUCTS 

The  ranch  appeared  deserted,  save  for  Tom,  the 
big  cat,  who  lay  outstretched  under  the  bench  beside 
the  door.  Halting  before  the  hitching  rail,  smooth 
from  many  reins  and  gnawed  in  spots  by  restless 
teeth,  Phil,  stiffly  dismounting,  tied  Pepper.  Then  as 
stiffly  he  hobbled  in  through  the  open  door,  and  made 
for  the  bucket  of  water.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
would  perish  unless  he  now  had  a  drink  instantly. 

Old  Jess  was  standing  by  the  stove,  his  sleeves 
rolled  up,  mixing  a  batch  of  bread  on  the  table. 

"  Got  back  ?  "  he  remarked,  casually.  "  Where  are 
the  other  boys  ?  " 

Phil,  having  sucked  the  dipper  dry,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  placed  it  in  the  bucket. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  I  lost  them  and 
so  I  came  back  alone." 

The  feat  did  not  seem  to  astonish  Old  Jess,  particu- 
larly. 

"  Thought  you  were  comin'  back  pretty  early,  when 
I  heard  the  hawss  an*  looked  out,"  he  said.  "  Where'd 
you  lose  'em  ?  " 

Phil  looked  at  the  clock.  'Twas  only  one-thirty! 
He  had  presumed  that  it  must  be  four,  at  the  earliest. 

"  'Way  out  somewhere,"  he  answered.  "  They  were 
chasing  calves,  and  a  bear  chased  me." 

88 


OLD  JESS   INSTRUCTS  89 

"  If  you're  hungry,"  directed  Old  Jess,  "  there's 
some  cold  beans  an*  pie  in  the  closet.  Help  your- 
self; my  hands  are  all  over  dough.  Get  a  plate;  tools 
are  in  one  o'  them  drawers." 

**ril  wash,  first,"  said  Phil 

"Better  unsaddle  an'  turn  your  hawss  out,"  sug- 
gested Old  Jess.  "  That's  the  fust  thing  a  cowman 
does:  'tends  to  his  hawss." 

"  Oh,"  said  Phil. 

He  went  straight  out  to  where  Pepper  was  stand- 
ing with  drooping  head,  in  the  hot  sun ;  and  unfasten- 
ing the  cinch  hauled  off  the  saddle  and  lugged  it  be- 
side the  blacksmith-shop,  where  he  threw  it  down. 
Then  he  unbuckled  the  throat-latch  and  stripped  the 
bridle.  With  a  toss  of  his  nose  Pepper  irritably 
ejected  the  bit,  and  shaking  himself,  walked  a  few 
steps  and  rolled.  After  that  ceremony  he  went  trot- 
ting and  whinneying  up  the  lane,  for  the  other  horses 
and  pasture. 

"  Here,  I'll  show  you  something,"  remarked  Old 
Jess  from  the  door,  where  he  had  been  washing  his 
hands,  and  wiping  them.     "  Come  along." 

He  preceded  Phil  to  where  the  saddle  was  lying 
as  it  had  happened  to  drop. 

"  When  you  take  off  a  saddle,"  he  continued,  "  the 
proper  way  is  to  lay  it  on  its  side — see? — so  the  flaps 
won't  be  curled  under  an'  ketch  when  you  go  to  saddle 
up  again.  Then  you  open  up  your  blankets  an'  lay 
them  across  so  they'll  dry.  A  wet  blanket  makes  a 
hawss's  back  sore;  an'  a  good  cowman  is  known  by 
the  condition  of  his  hawss's  back.    You  put  your  bridle 


90  BAR   B    BOYS 

beside  the  saddle,  or  inside  it,  so's  to  be  able  to  pick 
it  up  easy.    Savvy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I'll  remember,"  said  Phil,  abashed. 

"  Bueno,"  said  Old  Jess,  succinctly.  "  You'll  larn. 
We  don't  all  know  the  same  things.  Depends  where 
we're  raised.  Now  havin'  tended  to  your  hawss  an' 
fixin's,  you  can  eat.  Found  that  saddle  easy  to  ride, 
didn't  yuh?     I've  forked  it  thirty  years." 

"Yes,   sir,"  alleged  Phil. 

"  Not  all  the  saddles  up  here  are  double-rigs,"  com- 
mented Old  Jess.  "  Folks  seem  to  think  they're  safer 
in  the  mountains.  But  I  dunno.  Down  in  the  South- 
west the  center  fire's  the  only  thing.  Never  did  try  to 
ride  a  double-rig  myself  that  I  didn't  get  all  stiffened 
up — an'  that  ol'  tree  o'  mine  has  held  any  critter  that 
a  rope'U  hold.  They  say  you  need  the  back  cinch  in 
ropin'!  Bah!  Not  if  yuh  rope  right,  yuh  don't. 
Wouldn't  swap  that  ol'  single-rig  o'  mine  for  a  dozen 
double-rigs  or  the  new  fangled  what  they  call  three- 
quarter  rigs,  either." 

Phil  gladly  laved  his  burned  face  (wincing  as  he 
explored  the  parched  skin)  and  scrubbed  his  hands, 
and  cautiously  used  the  rough  towel.  He  took  an- 
other long  drink.     Goodness,  but  he  was  dry! 

Then  he  sank  into  a  chair  beside  the  table,  which 
Old  Jess  had  set  for  him  after  all.     He  was  tired. 

Old  Jess  lighted  a  pipe,  and  tilted  back  comfort- 
ably beside  the  doorway. 

"Bear  chased  you,  you  say?"  he  invited. 

"  Yes,  sir.  An  old  mother  bear  and  two  cubs.  I 
don't  know  as  they  chased,  but  Pepper  ran." 


OLD   JESS    INSTRUCTS  91 

"  Where  was  that.  Up  in  the  cedars,  too  ?  "  asked 
Old  Jess. 

Phil  told,  as  best  he  could,  and  described  the  meet- 
ing. 

"  Mus'  have  been  over  'round  Little  Squaw,''  mused 
Old  Jess,  puffing  reflectively  at  his  stubby  pipe. 
"  Well,  you  oughter  have  roped  her  an'  fetched  her 
back.  Cubs  would  have  followed,  an'  we'd  had  the 
whole  family  to  play  with." 

"  Didn't  have  a  rope,"  claimed  Phil. 

"  No ;  an'  you  didn't  want  the  bear,  either,"  claimed 
Old  Jess,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  If  Haney'd 
been  there  he'd  have  put  a  rope  on  her  if  his  hawss 
had  stood,  I'll  bet  a  hat." 

Phil  proceeded  to  demolish  pie,  and  to  reflect  upon 
the  recklessness  of  Haney. 

"  Then  how'd  you  come  out  ?  "  inquired  Old  Jess. 

Phil  told  his  story. 

*'  In  an  arroyo,  you  say?  "  examined  Old  Jess,  sud- 
denly showing  more  interest. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Three  men  and  a  girl,  and  four  horses 
and  two  burros.  The  men  and  the  girl  were  eating, 
and  had  dug  a  hole  for  water." 

"  Can  quite  often  find  water  by  diggin'  in  them  ar- 
royos,  up  near  the  head  'specially.  What  brands  did 
the  hawsses  carry?" 

Phil,  crestfallen,  had  to  confess  that  he  did  not 
notice. 

"  Didn't  notice  the  ear-marks,  either,  I  s'pose,"  pur- 
sued Old  Jess. 

''  No,  sir." 


92  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  Huh  ! "  Old  Jess's  tone  expressed  quiet  disgust. 
"What  kind  o'  lookin'  men  were  they?'* 

Phil  hastened  to  describe. 

"Well,  we  got  'em  branded,  all  right,"  said  Old 
Jess,  more  relieved.  "  Man  with  one  eye,  man  with 
a  limp,  an'  man  with  a  frozen  smile." 

"  And  a  dirty-faced  girl  who  might  be  pretty,"  sup- 
plemented Phil,  eagerly. 

"  Jes'  so."  Old  Jess  puffed.  "  How  far  back  in  was 
that  draw  with  the  arroyo?" 

"  Ten  miles,  about,"  said  Phil,  offhand. 

Old  Jess  shook  his  head,  and  took  his  pipe  out  to 
tap  it.  "  Oh,  no,  boy,"  he  declared  positively.  "  I 
reckon  you  aren't  a  very  good  jedge  o'  distances  yet. 
Might  have  seemed  ten  mile,  because  you  were  in  a 
strange  country,  an'  lookin'  a  way  out.  Ten  mile 
would  have  taken  you  'tother  side  the  divide.  Be- 
sides, you  got  home  at  one-thirty.  How  many  draws 
did  you  pass  through,  comin'  out,  before  you  struck 
the  flat?" 

Phil  hadn't  counted.     Six  or  seven,  he  thought. 

"  Was  there  the  wheel  of  a  wagon  stickin'  out  of  a 
dried  boghole,  at  the  mouth  o'  the  draw  that  opened 
into  the  flat  ?  "  asked  Old  Jess. 

Phil  pondered.  He  didn't  think  so.  He  hadn't  no- 
ticed it. 

"Well,  you  want  to  larn  to  notice  things,  boy," 
reproved  Old  Jess.  "  Use  your  eyes.  Seems  as 
though  you  must  have  been  up  Brush  Draw — but 
that  has  the  wagon  wheel  at  its  mouth.  If  you  weren't 
up  Brush  Draw,  I'm  dumed  if  I  know  where  you 


OLD   JESS    INSTRUCTS  93 

were.  How  far  was  the  draw  you  come  out  of,  from 
the  ranch  ?  " 

"  Five  miles,  about,"  asserted  Phil,  trying  to  be 
conservative. 

"  Brush  Draw's  *bout  a  mile  an'  a  half.  Five  miles'd 
bring  you  to  Elk  Draw — but  Elk  Draw's  more  like 
a  cafion,  an'  ends  against  the  rim-rock.  'Twasn't  Elk 
Draw,"  argued  Old  Jess.  He  changed  the  subject: 
"  There  was  a  stink  like  something  dead,  where  those 
men  were,  you  say?" 

**  Worse  than  a  hide  factory,"  volunteered  Phil. 

"  An'  one  o'  the  men — the  fellow  with  the  limp — 
he  stood  guard  at  the  mouth  o'  that  cross  arroyo,  an' 
advised  you  to  go  on;  and  none  of  'em  'peared  to 
want  you  to  stay,"  examined  Old  Jess.  "  Rustlers, 
sure  as  shootin',"  he  vowed,  satisfied.  "  Not  the 
slightest  doubt  of  it.  I  know  the  country  as  well  as 
anybody,  an'  there  ain't  any  such  parties  belong  here. 
That  was  hides,  an'  dead  critters,  you  smelled.  Must 
be  common  meat  thieves — kind  that  butchers  cows 
an'  sells  their  meat  an'  hides.  Bah ! "  More  dis- 
gusted than  ever  Old  Jess  spat  out  of  the  open  door. 
"  They  won't  last  long  on  the  Bar  B  range,  if  we  ever 
ketch  'em.  There's  a  law  on  Owl  Creek  that  covers 
this  varmin.  But  what  they  doin'  with  the  girl,  I 
wonder.     Didn't  know  ye,  did  they  ?  " 

Phil  thought  not.  And  the  presence  of  the  girl 
was  a  phase  that  neither  of  them  could  declare  upon. 

With  a  slight  grimace  as  his  knees  cracked  and  his 
tendons  rebelliously  stretched,  Phil  arose  from  the 
table. 


94  BAR   B    BOYS 

"Needn't  clear  them  things  away,"  said  Old  Jess, 
who  had  watched  him  out  of  a  corner  of  his  eye.  "  I'll 
stack  'em  up  in  a  minute.     Pretty  stiff?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  especially,"  denied  Phil,  bravely. 

"  Um-m-m,"  murmured  Old  Jess,  unconvinced, 
but  discreetly  not  pressing  the  inquiry.  "  For  a  boy 
who's  had  the  pneumony  you're  right  husky,  ain't 
yuh?" 

Phil  gamely  resolved  to  demonstrate  further. 

"  Is  there  an  old  rope  around  somewhere,  I  won- 
der, I  can  practice  with  ?  "  he  queried. 

"Might  be.  You  look  in  the  blacksmith  shop  an' 
I  think  you'll  find  one  hangin'  up.  Belongs  to  Buster, 
but  he  ain't  usin'  it.  Too  kinky  for  him.  Why? 
Want  to  ketch  something,  sometime  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  catch  my  own  horse,  won't 
I?" 

"  You  suhtinly  will,  at  times,  when  there  ain't  no- 
body to  ketch  him  for  you."  And  Old  Jess  rose  and 
commenced  to  clean  up  the  table. 

Phil  proceeded,  with  a  limp  which  he  tried  to  con- 
ceal, to  the  blacksmith  shop,  and  found  the  rope.  It 
had  been  painted  with  red  paint,  which  still  clung 
amidst  the  twist. 

He  emerged  with  it  into  the  yard,  and  with  some 
misgivings  which  he  had  not  anticipated,  coiled  it, 
shook  out  the  loop,  and  tried  to  throw  as  he  had  seen 
Haney  and  Chet  and  the  others  throw.  But  instead 
of  opening  nicely  the  noose  persisted  in  flying  through 
the  air  all  twisted  or  else  in  a  double  line  with  its 
$ides    stuck    together — which    of    course    renders    a 


OLD    JESS    INSTRUCTS  95 

noose  quite  valueless  except  as  a  club.  There  was  a 
knack  in  throwing  the  rope,  after  all. 

"  Here,  lemme  show  you  a  point  or  two,"  said  Old 
Jess,  who  had  been  watching,  with  a  grim  smile,  from 
the  door  of  the  house,  and  now  advanced  into  the  yard 
and  to  the  scene  of  Phil's  labors.  "  Fust  place,  you're 
holdin'  it  all  wrong.  You  don't  want  to  hold  it  at  the 
hondo — that's  the  hondo,  this  slip-knot.  You  want  to 
take  it  about  a  third  the  way  along  the  noose,  from 
the  hondo,  an'  include  the  rope  with  it,  too,  that  far. 
Then  when  you  throw  it  the  hondo  swings  out  an' 
by  its  weight,  I  reckon,  keeps  the  loop  open.  Mebbe 
you  throw  your  mammy's  clothes-line,  holdin'  by  the 
knot,  but  out  here  we  throw  the  way  I'm  tellin'  yuh, 
if  we  want  to  ketch  anything — and  usually  when  we 
throw  we  do.     See  ?  " 

He  had  gathered  the  rope,  and  separating  loop  from 
coil,  with  a  careless  swing  about  his  head  and  a  little 
flirt,  had  cast;  the  noose,  flying  straight  and  round, 
fell  exactly  upon  the  post  at  which  it  was  aimed. 
Hastily  flipping  the  rope  Old  Jess  flipped  the  loop 
off  the  post ;  by  the  recoil  it  fell  at  his  feet. 

"  Oh ! "  said  Phil.  "  Did  you  ever  punch  cows, 
then,  Mr.  Jess  ?  " 

"Me?     Did  I !     Some  forty  years!"  snorted 

Old  Jess.     "  What'd  yuh  think  I  am— a  cook?" 

"  Well,  I've  seen  you  cooking,"  defended  Phil. 

"  Sure  you  have — an'  you'll  see  yourself  cookin',  if 
you  stay  out  in  this  country  long,"  agreed  Old  Jess. 
"  Everybody  cooks,  at  the  Bar  B,  an'  I'm  jes'  takin' 
a  turn  at  it — a  little  longer  than  common  because  I 


96  BAR"  H  BOYS 

want  to  git  rid  o'  my  rheumatism  'fore  the  roundup. 
But  Fm  no  cook,  boy.  I'm  plain  cow-puncher,  Hke 
the  rest  of  'em.  I  ain't  got  down  to  cookin'  for  a 
livin'  yet." 

"Where  have  you  punched — 'round  here,  for  the 
Bar  B,  always?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  was  on  the  old  Texas  trail  'fore  ever 
the  Bar  B  was  born.  This  ain't  cow-punchin',  these 
days.     It's  half  ranchin'." 

"Were  you  in  Texas?* 

"  Now,  boy,  lemme  give  you  another  pointer,  since 
you*re  larnin',  an'  it  may  save  you  trouble.  Don't  go 
into  a  man's  pussonal  history  too  far.  Where  a  man 
come  from  ain't  your  business,  nor  mine.  I  haven't 
asked  you  where  you  come  from,  have  I?  There's  a 
heap  o'  people  in  these  hills  whose  past  history  no- 
body knows;  an'  a  good  deal  of  it  may  not  bear  in- 
vestigatin'." 

"  Like  those  men  in  the  arroyo,"  suggested  Phil, 
trying  to  cover  his  confusion. 

"Yep;  like  those  men  in  the  arroyo;  an'  like  other 
men  you'll  meet  'fore  you  go  out.  A  good  plan  in 
the  West  is  to  keep  eyes  and  ears  open,  an'  mouth 
shut.  Nothin*  brands  a  tenderfoot  like  fool  ques- 
tions." 

"  I'll  remember,"  said  Phil,  soberly. 

Old  Jess  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Mark  my  words  an'  do  so,"  he  said.  "  Now,  go 
on  an'  throw  your  rope,  so  that  to-morrow  mornin' 
you  can  brace  right  in  an'  ketch  your  own  hawss. 
See  if  you  can't  git  onto  throwin'  it  over  your  shoul- 


OLD    JESS    INSTRUCTS  97 

der.  That's  the  only  way,  from  the  saddle;  an'  on 
foot,  too,  for  then  you  don't  ketch  every  critter  in  the 
bunch  when  you  only  want  one.  I  use  a  rawhide  rope, 
myself." 

"Is  it  better?" 

"  Throws  slicker,  slides  quicker,  handles  neater. 
Couldn't  give  me  nothin'  else.  But  like  the  center-fire 
an'  the  double-rigs  it's  a  matter  of  opinion — up 
here.  Down  in  my  ol'  country  it  ain't.  But  common 
four-ply  hard-twist  manilla  is  good  'nough  for  you, 
you'll  find." 

Coached  for  a  minute,  and  left  to  himself  as  old 
Jess  waddled  back  to  the  house,  Phil  found  himself 
making  slow  progress.  There  were  two  ways  of 
throwing  the  rope.  One  was  to  let  the  rope  trail  on 
the  ground  behind,  and  to  cast  it  forward  through  the 
air;  the  other  was  to  swing  it  about  the  head,  and 
abruptly  to  cast  it  in  that  manner.  This  was  the 
hardest  for  him  to  solve.  The  other  way,  he  occasion- 
ally noosed  the  post  (although  the  loop  had  a  tricky 
way  of  missing  it) ;  but  when  he  came  to  swing,  and 
to  cast  with  that  peculiar  wrist-motion,  he  usually 
missed  the  object  about  ten  yards  Of  course,  with  a 
side-arm  motion,  he  could  throw  it  like  a  girl  throws 
a  stone  or  as  at  home  he  had  thrown  the  clothes- 
line spoken  of  by  Old  Jess ;  but  from  the  hand  of  Jess 
and  Haney  and  Buster  and  all,  the  noose  shot  as 
straight  as  a  bullet,  out  from  the  shoulder.  Whereas 
the  side-arm  motion,  as  Old  Jess  had  criticized,  in- 
cluded "  all  out-doors." 

While    he    was    zealously    practicing,    Haney    and 


98  BAR   B    BOYS 

Chet  appeared,  suddenly  topping  the  hither  bank  of 
the  creek. 

"  There's  Smith-Jones  ropin'  the  whole  ranch," 
commented  Haney,  as  they  cantered  into  the  yard. 

"  Where  did  you  go  ?  "  asked  Chet.  "  We  looked 
all  'round  for  you." 

They  dismounted  simultaneously,  and  unsaddled, 
Haney  turning  his  pinto  loose  first  by  a  full  thirty 
seconds. 

Phil  explained. 

*'  We  saw  that  old  bear,  too,"  said  Chet.  "  She  ran 
off  and  her  cubs  climbed  a  tree  and  Haney  tried  to 
rope  them  out !  " 

"  If  the  branches  hadn't  kep'  gettin'  in  the  way 
I'd  a  roped  'em  shuah,  an'  fetched  'em  back  to  yuh, 
Smith-Jones,"  informed  Haney. 

"  Why  didn't  you  climb  the  tree,  and  get  them 
yourself?"  demanded  Phil  stoutly. 

"  Uh,  uh.  Not  me,"  declared  Haney,  shaking  his 
red  head,  while  with  a  redder  handkerchief  he  wiped 
his  face.  ''  But  I  tell  yuh,  Smith-Jones :  I'll  eat 
raw  anything  you  rope ! "  With  this  challenge  he 
kicked  off  his  chaps  and  stalked  into  the  ranch-house. 
Chet  imitated.  Phil,  following,  noted  with  satisfac- 
tion that  they,  also,  were  stiff. 

Having  washed,  the  two  proceeded  to  eat  what  Old 
Jess  set  out  for  them,  and  all  discussed  Phil's  second 
encounter  with  the  rustlers;  this  appearing  to  be  of 
much  more  moment  than  his  encounter  with  the  bear. 

After  the  lunch,  Haney  strolled  out.  and  with  a 
grunt  of  satisfaction  seated  himself  upon  the  ground 


OLD   JESS   INSTRUCTS  99 

with  his  back  against  the  logs  of  the  blacksmith  shop, 
lazily  watching  while  Phil,  coached  by  Chet,  sheep- 
ishly but  doggedly  renewed  his  roping  practice. 

**  See — it's  this  way,"  demonstrated  Chet,  neatly 
noosing  a  post.  But  Phil  only  waxed  more  and  more 
awkward,  as  seemed  to  him.  And  Haney  was  moved 
again  to  proffer,  sarcastically: 

"  Yes,  suh,  Smith-Jones.  I'll  engage  to  eat  alive 
an'  raw  anything  you  ketch  runnin'  loose !  " 

He  reached,  with  negligent  fingering  took  his  own 
rope  off  his  saddle,  and  coiled  it  from  a  small  noose. 
Tom,  the  cat,  at  the  moment,  disturbed  by  the  per- 
formance of  Chet  and  Phil,  was  starting  upon  a  digni- 
fied retreat  across  the  yard  to  another  and  more  quiet 
corner.  From  his  sitting  posture  Haney  lightly 
flicked  his  rope.  It  fell  true,  but  only  upon  the  spot 
where  Tom  had  been  while  it  was  in  air.  As  the 
loop  opened  above  him,  he  sprang  from  under,  and 
in  far  from  dignified  jumps  was  fleeing  with  stub 
erect  and  ears  laid  back  for  a  clump  of  grease-wood. 

^' Will  you  eat  cat?"  queried  Phil  mischievously. 

"  I'll  never  eat  that  cat,  if  I  have  to  wait  till  you 
ketch  him,"  vouchsafed  Haney,  imperturbed.  "  See 
how  he  dodged?  He's  smart.  Smartest  puhson  on 
the  place.     Knows  a  heap,  that  cat  does." 

"  We're  always  trying  to  rope  him,  but  he's  too 
slick,"  added  Chet.  "  I  expect  he's  had  a  thousand 
nooses  thrown  at  him,  and  never  a  one  has  touched 
him,  hardly." 

"  He's  got  so  he  laiks  it,"  asserted  Haney,  dream- 
ily— now,  having  tossed  his  rope  against  his  saddle. 


loo  BAR   B    BOYS 

leaning  back  with  his  great  dusty  black  hat  over  his 
eyes  and  his  worn  boots  straight  before. 

There  was  a  sound  of  hoofs  and  Mr.  Simms  came 
riding  down  the  lane. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  swinging  to  the  ground.  "  Back? 
I  mailed  your  letters,  son.  Well,  what  did  they  do 
to  you,  to-day  ?  Give  you  riding  enough  to  hold  you 
till  morning?  " 

"  He  got  lost  again,'*  chuckled  Chet. 

When  Phil's  adventures  had  been  recited,  Mr. 
Simms  looked  grave.  The  incident  of  the  bear  made 
him  smile  grimly,  but  the  incident  of  the  camp  in 
the  arroyo  sobered  him.  Ford  Dexter  and  Buster, 
the  other  cowboys,  arrived,  dusty  and  tired,  while  the 
tale  was  in  course  of  narration,  and  listened  atten- 
tively. 

"  Boys,  we'll  try  to  cover  that  country,  to-morrow," 
said  Mr.  Simms,  after  supper.  "  But  we'll  be  lucky 
if  we  find  them.  And  I've  some  other  news.  Met 
Rankin  of  the  Boot  outfit  in  town,  and  a  Reverse  R 
man.  The  cattle  all  are  coming  down  fine,  so  I 
reckon  we'll  start  the  roundup  the  first  of  next  week. 
Meet  at  the  mouth  of  Willow." 

"Little  black  bull  come  daown  the  mountain, 
Daown  the  mountain,  daown  the  mountain " 

sang  Haney,  gleefully. 

"  We've  all  heard  that.  Give  us  something  new," 
they  rebuked. 

"  All  right.  Jes'  as  you  say,"  responded  the  affable 
Haney. 


OLD   JESS   INSTRUCTS  101 

Out  on  the  roundup,  boys,  tell  yuh  what  yuh  get — 

Little  chunk  o'  bread  an'  a  little  chunk  o*  meat; 

Little  black  coffee,  boys,  plumb  full  o'  alkali; 

Dust  in  your  throat,  boys,  an'  gravel  in  your  eye ! 

So  it's  doctor  up  your  cinches,  oil  your  slickers  an'  your 

guns. 
For   it's  out   upon   the    roundup   when   the   green   grass 

comes." 

This  chorus  ran  through  Phil's  brain  all  night. 


t 


CHAPTER   XI 

PHIL     ROPES     THE     BANDED     STEER 

"  Gray  Jack  is  to  be  your  hawss  to-day,  boy," 
said  Mr.  Simms,  after  breakfast,  in  the  morning,  as 
according  to  custom  everybody  except  the  temporary 
cook  directed  steps,  rope  in  hand,  to  the  corral.  "  Go- 
ing to  rope  him  for  yourself,  are  you  ?  " 

For  Phil,  with  Buster's  discarded  rope,  was  join- 
ing the  procession.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  might 
as  well  begin  now  as  later — and  naturally  he  felt  a 
certain  pride  in  doing  as  the  others. 

"  Haney  says  he'll  eat  raw  anything  Phil  catches,'* 
sniggered  Chet. 

"  Raw  an'  alive,"  promptly  supplemented  Haney, 
who  overheard. 

"Can't  afford  that,"  answered  Mr.  Simms. 
"  Hawsses  are  worth  sixty  dollars.  They're  worth 
more  than  Haney  is!  You  show  him  Gray  Jack, 
Chet." 

With  no  little  nervousness,  Phil  stood  in  the  corral 
and  watched  the  horses  jostle  around  and  around. 
He  was  aware  that  Chet  was  waiting  to  see  what 
he  would  do,  and  that  the  men,  while  busy  attend- 
ing to  their  own  roping,  were  covertly  observing  him. 
But  he  shook  his  loop  free  of  entanglements,  along 
the  ground  beside  him,  and  holding  it  at  a  little  dis- 

I03 


PHIL   ROPES    THE    STEER  103 

tance  inside  the  Hondo,  as  instructed,  followed  the 
gyrations  of  Gray  Jack. 

"Now's  your  chance,"  directed  a  quiet  voice  be- 
hind him.  It  was  Ford  Dexter  who  spoke.  "  Give 
it  to  him;  don't  be  afraid.     We  all  had  to  learn." 

Gray  Jack  was  running  on  the  inner  circle  of  the 
bunch ;  and  just  when  he  wheeled,  with  head  high,  as 
all  jammed  in  turning  short,  Phil  energetically  hurled 
his  noose.  To  his  own  astonishment  it  landed  pre- 
cisely; but  it  not  only  fell  on  Gray  Jack's  head,  it 
slipped  back  upon  the  shoulders 

"  Flip  it  up !  Flip  it  up,  or  you'll  never  hold  him !  '* 
cried  Ford,  reaching  to  help. 

Before  Phil  could  appreciate  what  he  was  expected 
to  do.  Gray  Jack,  plunging  with  one  fore-leg  through 
the  loop,  had  jerked  him  upon  his  face  in  the  mud, 
and  ripping  the  rope  through  his  hands  was  gal- 
loping triumphantly  about  the  corral  again,  in  the 
midst  of  the  other  horses. 

Scrambling  to  his  feet,  Phil  grabbed  at  the  rope, 
to  try  to  set  back  upon  it.  He  might  as  well  have 
essayed  to  hold  a  locomotive.  Head  first  he  plunged, 
and  released  the  rope  as  quickly  as  he  might  a  snake. 

"  Get  up !  Get  up ! "  bade  Ford,  while  a  shout 
of  applause  came  from  the  spectators.  "  You  never 
can  hold  a  horse  by  a  rope  around  his  shoulders. 
Neck's  the  proper  place.  Wait;  I'll  catch  him  for 
you." 

At  the  touch  of  Ford's  rope  upon  his  neck.  Gray 
Jack  stopped  instantly  in  his  tracks.  Docile,  he  let 
Ford  slip  Phil's  rope  up  to  the  proper  place. 


I04  BAR   B    BOYS 

"Take  him  out/'  said  Ford,  turning  him  over  to 
Phil;  and  noting  Phil  ruefully  inspecting  his  hands, 
the  inside  of  which  was  raw  where  the  friction  of 
the  hard  twist  had  told  even  through  the  gloves,  he 
commented,  slightly  smiling,  "  Rope-burned  good 
and  plenty,  aren't  you?" 

"  Gee !  "  exclaimed  Chet.     "  Doesn't  it  hurt  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  asserted  Phil,  gingerly  drawing  on 
his  gloves  again. 

He  led  out  Gray  Jack. 

"Smith-Jones  caught  somethin'  he  couldn't  let  go 
of  quick  enough,  shuah,"  murmured  Haney,  pulling 
at  a  cinch. 

"He  pretty  near  made  you  eat  a  gray  horse,  just 
the  same,"  remarked  Ford,  slyly.  "If  his  noose 
hadn't  slipped  down." 

"  If  the  'possum  hadn't  got  away,  Rastus'd 
fetched  him  home  foh  roastin',"  quoth  Haney. 

"  Yu  see  it's  this  way,"  quietly  volunteered  Buster, 
who,  having  completed  his  own  saddling-up,  stood 
by  Phil.  He  untwisted  the  cinch,  and  passed  it  under, 
for  Phil  to  grasp.  "  A  hawss  won't  run  on  the  rope 
when  yu  get  him  'round  the  neck;  but  he's  shore  bad 
when  yore  rope  gits  down  too  fur.  If  the  loop  is 
big  she's  liable  to  slip,  an'  when  yu  see  her  doin'  it, 
yu  want  to  give  her  a  flip  'fore  she  draws  tight — or 
else  yu  want  tuh  leave  go.  Nobody  can't  hold  a 
hawss  by  the  shoulders  or  'round  the  belly.  Some- 
times a  hawss'll  run  clean  through  a  loop." 

It  was  quite  a  speech  for  Buster,  and  kindly  meant ; 
so  that  Phil  felt  that  he  somehow  must  have  earned 


PHIL    ROPES    THE    STEER  105 

consideration  by  his  affair  with  Gray  Jack.  He  was 
winning  his  way. 

"Chet  and  Phil  and  I  '11  ride  up  that  draw  Phil 
came  out  of,  if  we  can  find  it,  and  look  for  that 
arroyo,"  announced  Mr.  Simms.  "  Ford,  you  and 
Buster  might  make  a  little  pasear  up  Red  Draw  and 
around  over  the  hill,  to  meet  us  at  the  Lazy  J  camp 
about  noon." 

"  Where  does  Haney  go  ? "  queried  Chet,  as  that 
individual  waited,  statuesque  upon  his  horse. 

"  Up  to  the  hawss  camp  to  help  Hombre  bring  the 
animals  down." 

"  I'm  too  wild  to  be  sent  against  those  rustlers,  any- 
way," observed  Haney,  turning  his  horse.  "Might 
huht  'em!" 

He  rode  up  the  lane;  the  rest  of  them  crossed  the 
creek  and  took  the  trail  over  the  little  rise  and  down 
into  the  wide  sagy  flat,  cut  by  its  arroyos. 

Phil  saw  with  a  thrill  that  Mr.  Simms  and  Chet 
each  had  a  rifle  in  a  scabbard  slung  beside  their  sad- 
dles.    Ford  and  Buster  appeared  to  be  unarmed. 

"  Don't  they  have  guns,  too  ?  "  he  asked  of  Chet, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  Oh,  they  got  'em,  all  right,"  assured  Chet. 

"Where?" 

"In  a  Texas  holster,  under  their  blolises,  hanging 
from  the  left  shoulder." 

"  Is  yours  loaded  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

Phil  sighed. 

"  I  wish  I  had  one,"  he  said,  enviously. 


io6  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  I  know  where  we  can  borrow  one  for  you.  John 
Abel  of  the  Flying  U  has  it,"  proffered  Chet.  "  We'll 
see  him  on  the  roundup." 

"All  right." 

"  Dad  took  his  to-day  because  of  those  rustlers,  so 
I  took  mine,"  continued  Chet.  "  But  usually  we 
don't  carry  'em.  They  catch  in  the  brush.  And  six- 
shooters  aren't  fashionable  any  more,  on  the  cow- 
range,  dad  says.  Everybody  used  to  carry  'em.  I 
want  an  automatic  like  Dick  Vorum's.  Ford  has  one, 
too." 

"  Let  us  know  when  we  come  to  your  draw,  Phil," 
directed  Mr.  Simms,  breaking  into  a  gallop  and  in- 
terrupting Chet's  gun  talk. 

Down  the  trail  they  all  sped,  behind  them  a  wake 
of  dust  floating  golden  in  the  sun;  bridles  and  rowels 
jingled,  chaps  scuffed,  saddles  squeaked,  and  broad 
brims  flared  in  the  breeze. 

"  How  are  you  making  it,  boy?"  asked  Mr.  Simms, 
as  they  slackened  to  a  walk  after  the  breather. 
"Pretty  sore?" 

"  I  was  kind  of  sore  when  we  started,"  admitted 
Phil.    "  But  Fm  not  so  any  more — except  my  hands." 

"  Rope  burns  sure  last  a  long  while,"  and  Mr. 
Simms  smiled  his  grim  characteristic  but  not  unpleas- 
ant smile.  "You'll  remember  them,  I  reckon.  The 
best  way  to  get  rid  of  soreness  from  riding  is  to  climb 
right  on  and  ride  it  off — like  you're  doing.  We'll 
send  yuh  home  yet  with  bow-knees  and  saddle-corns 
on  yuh  as  big  as  dinner  plates." 

"His  mammy  won't  know  him,"  declared  Buster. 


PHIL    ROPES    THE   STEER  107 

Suddenly  a  little  wave  of  homesickness  welled  into 
Phil's  throat.  How  far  away  his  mother  and  father 
were — and  how  remote  was  home.  Certainly  much 
had  happened  to  him  in  less  than  forty-eight  hours ! 

Ford  and  Buster  branched  off  into  a  narrow,  rocky 
draw  like  a  small  canon.  Mr.  Simms  and  the  two 
boys  kept  on.  Phil  maintained  an  anxious  eye  for 
"  his  "  draw,  but  to  his  companion's  queries  he  could 
only  answer  with  a  dubious  shake  of  the  head. 
Finally  Mr.  Simms  turned  in,  and  saying  flatly: 
"  We've  gone  far  enough.  Either  this  is  the  one,  or 
we've  passed  it,"  proceeded  on  up  the  sagy  defile 
that  opened  like  a  side  entrance  into  the  broad  flat. 

"This  look  familiar,  boy?'* 

But  Phil  could  not  assert  that  it  did. 

"  It  ought  to.  It's  the  draw  Chet  and  Haney  took 
you  up  yesterday ! "  continued  Mr.  Simms,  with  a 
trace  of  sarcasm. 

Cattle  had  been  sighted,  through  the  flat,  and  once 
or  twice  Mr.  Simms  had  abruptly  veered  from  the 
trail  and  swept  at  a  gallop,  sitting  the  saddle  as  if 
it  were  a  rocking-chair,  across  the  brush  to  inspect. 
But  there  were  no  cattle  in  the  draw  and  at  last  Mr. 
Simms  waxed  restive. 

"Ho-hum,"  he  said,  reining  to  the  left.  "We 
can't  depend  on  Phil,  and  no  cattle  in  sight;  let's 
climb  the  hill  and  see  what's  in  the  cedars  on  top." 

So  they  climbed  the  slope  and  were  among  the  fra- 
grant cedars. 

"Were  you  and  Haney  here  yesterday?"  asked 
Mr.  Simms  of  Chet. 


io8  BAR   B    BOYS 

"No,  sir.  We  took  in  by  that  little  draw  farther 
on  and  crossed  the  ridge,  didn't  we,  Phil?  On  the 
ridge  is  where  we  saw  the  bear  tracks." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Phil,  vouching  readily  for  that.  He 
remembered  "  bear." 

**  Somebody  has  been  riding  through  here,"  mused 
Mr.  Simms.  "  Somebody  with  a  hawss  that  isn't 
shod.  All  the  cow-hawsses  are  shod,  at  least  on  two 
feet." 

"  Maybe  it's  a  loose  horse,"  proposed  Chet. 

"  Nope,"  denied  his  father  shortly.  "  This  hawss 
is  being  ridden.  He  sinks  too  deep.  Somebody's  been 
driving  burros,  too.  Those  rustlers  had  burros,  did 
they,  boy?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  saw  them  in  the  arroyo." 

"Um-m-m." 

They  rode  on,  Phil  at  the  rear  with  his  heart 
thumping. 

"  Not  much  use  following  these  tracks,"  declared 
Mr.  Simms,  suddenly.  "  They're  from  last  night,  at 
the  latest.  Chet,  you  take  Phil  and  circle  the  moun- 
tain, and  ril  meet  you  on  the  other  side.  There  may 
be  a  lot  o'  cattle  between  us;  you  can  ride  through 
'em,  but  I  wouldn't  stop  to  brand.  Just  see  what  they 
are?" 

"All  right.  Come  on,  Phil.  That's  where  the 
wild  cattle  stay.  I'll  show  you  some,"  quoth  Chet, 
'gleefully. 

Leaving  Mr.  Simms  to  pursue  his  course  they  di- 
verged at  a  right  angle  on  theirs.  As  if  imbued  now 
with    responsibility   Chet   trotted    his    horse    briskly 


PHIL    ROPES    THE    STEER  109 

through  the  cedars,  and  Phil  on  Gray  Jack  had  the 
same  difficuhy  of  the  day  before  in  keeping  up. 

"  You  ought  to  wear  spurs,"  called  Chet,  halting 
to  wait  for  him.  "  These  horses  all  soldier  as  soon  as 
they  know  you  can't  spur  *em.  Here,  take  one  of 
mine,"  and  he  detached  it  and  handed  it  over.  **  When 
Hombre  comes  down,  Fll  get  him  to  make  you  a 
pair." 

"Who's  Hombre?"  asked  Phil. 

"He's  a  Mexican.  He's  camping  with  the  horse 
herd.  Best  Mexican  you  ever  saw.  Come  on.  On 
top  here  we  can  see  some  wild  cattle,  maybe." 

They  mounted  a  bare  round  rise  which  in  any  re- 
gion but  the  mountain  West  would  have  been  a  very 
respectable  hill ;  and  at  the  crest  they  paused  to  survey. 
Below  and  beyond  lay  a  stretch  of  country  almost 
level,  gentle  in  aspect,  with  many  grassy  flats  and  a 
sprinkling  of  trees,  some  of  which  might  have  been 
Eastern  elms. 

"  See — there  they  are !  That's  a  bunch !  "  ex- 
claimed Chet,  excited.  "  That  one  with  his  side  to 
us,  on  the  edge,  is  the  banded  steer,  I  bet.  Gee! 
Shall  we  try  to  catch  him?" 

In  the  shade  of  a  spreading  tree  at  the  middle  of 
an  open  flat  a  mile  distant  was  a  group  of  dots.  Phil 
could  realize  that  they  were  animals — but  so  far  as 
distinguishing  their  colors,  not  he.  His  city  bred  eyes 
failed  beside  of  Chet's  trained  vision.     He  peered. 

"They  see  us,  too!"  cried  Chet.  "Look  at  their 
old  heads  up?  They're  wilder  than  deer  and  twice  as 
sharp.    That  old  banded  steer,  he's  the  leader.    He's 


no  BAR   B    BOYS 

a  Bar  B  steer "  and  Chet  spoke  with  the  pride 

of  proprietorship.  "Come  on  (his  favorite  appeal)! 
Take  down  your  rope.  Perhaps  we  can  get  him  be- 
tween ns  and  rope  him  just  for  fun." 

Away  sped  Chet,  lurching  down  recklessly,  at  the 
same  time  unbuckling  his  rope  where  it  hung  in  a 
coil  at  his  saddle.  And  away  after  him  sped  Phil, 
bounced  mightily  by  his  plunging  gray,  and  hanging 
to  the  saddle  horn. 

On  the  level  he  straightened  up,  more  comfortable, 
and  with  nervous  fingers  began  to  take  down  his 
rope — the  rope  of  Buster's  which  he  had  adopted. 

"There  they  go!"  shouted  Chet.  "But  they'll 
have  to  turn  at  the  rim-rock.  To  the  right!  Hurry 
up!" 

Shaking  out  his  rope  he  spurred  his  horse  more 
madly;  and  endeavoring  to  shake  out  his  rope,  Phil, 
now  thoroughly  excited,  spurred  Gray  Jack.  Awak- 
ening to  the  spirit  of  the  occasion.  Gray  Jack,  with 
a  grunt  and  leap,  quickened  from  a  gallop  to  a  run 
and  fairly  flew — crashing  through  bushes,  jumping 
unexpected  little  ditches  and  holes,  swerving  'midst 
trees,  his  bit  apparently  in  his  teeth.  Phil  jammed  his 
hat  tighter — and  was  almost  unseated  doing  it. 

"  Come  on !  "  encouraged  Chet,  far  in  advance.  "  I 
see  'em!    Look  out  when  they  break  back!" 

Into  a  grassy  oval  raced  Gray  Jack.  The  wind 
whistled  past  Phil's  ears.  Oh,  but  this  was  sport! 
He  had  not  tumbled  off  yet,  and  with  confidence  grow- 
ing in  him,  he  could  enjoy  himself.  Chet  had  disap- 
peared— but  a  yell  drifted  back  from  him. 


PHIL   ROPES    THE    STEER  iii 

"There  they  come,  Phil!'' 

Out  from  the  trees  edging  the  park  galloped  three 
cattle,  cutting  in  athwart  Gray  Jack's  course.  Lean 
they  were,  long-legged,  rough-coated  and  wild-eyed. 
Two  dodged  back,  but  the  other,  a  raw-boned  fellow 
with  wide-spreading  horns  and  red  body  cleanly  cir- 
cled by  a  band  of  white,  dashed  straight  across.  Gray 
Jack  instantly  took  matters  to  himself.  Old  cow- 
horse  that  he  was  he  changed  direction  so  violently 
that  Phil,  pitched  sideways,  almost  was  shot  to  the 
ground,  and  obliqued  for  the  banded  steer. 

"  Get  him,  Phil !  Get  him ! "  yelped  Chet,  now  be- 
hind, in  the  timber,  and  witnessing. 

The  banded  steer  ran  with  tail  up,  head  down — and 
ran  with  unexpected  fleetness,  making  for  the  trees 
beyond.  But  Gray  Jack,  the  quarry  in  sight,  clap- 
ping on  more  steam  yet,  lengthened  himself  with 
jump  after  jump,  at  a  pace  that  struck  Phil  as  prodi- 
gious.    The  gap  closed  rapidly. 

"  You're  heading  him !  Look  out  when  he  turns !  " 
yelled  Chet.     "  Drive  him  this  way." 

Phil  could  see  the  white  of  the  straining  animal's 
eye-balls.  The  steer  changed  direction;  so  did  Gray 
Jack,  and  drew  closer. 

"  Throw,  throw ! "  besought  Chet,  whom  the  new 
course  had  put  again  in  the  rear.  "  You're  near 
enough ! " 

Phil  scarcely  knew  how  he  did  it ;  but  he  swung  his 
loop  as  best  he  could,  and  erratically  let  it  go.  It 
sailed  out  in  a  twist  like  a  figure  eight  (not  the 
proper  form  at  all  for  a  loop),  and  fell  across  the 


112  BAR   B    BOYS 

steer's  neck.  At  the  touch  of  it,  he  wheeled,  slipped, 
shook  it  off — no — yes — yes — see,  a  half  of  the  eight 
is  entangled  about  his  horns — he  flipped  it  there  him- 
self— he's  roped! 

"YouVe  got  him!  YouVe  got  him!  Hurrah!" 
cheered  Chet,  thudding  from  somewhere,  to  help. 
"Take  your  dallies!" 

The  rope  drew  tight  between  them  as  now  almost 
side  by  side  Gray  Jack  and  the  banded  steer  raced 
along.  Phil  essayed  desperately  to  wind  his  end — or 
Gray  Jack's  end,  as  Gray  Jack  seemed  to  be  engineer- 
ing the  affair — around  the  saddle  horn.  And  what 
next?    He  had  hooked  the  fish. 

"  Give  him  slack  and  throw  him.  I'm  coming," 
exhorted  Chet. 

That  was  it:  give  him  slack.  The  rope  was  like  a 
fiddle-string.  Neither  horse  nor  steer  was  yielding  an 
inch.  He  kicked  Gray  Jack  in  the  ribs,  to  turn  him 
in.  The  rope  slacked  for  an  instant — but  the  steer 
turned  also — it  whipped  taut  with  a  jerk  and  now 
head-on  the  steer  snapped  it  and  continued  into  the 
brush.  For  a  moment  Phil  saw  him,  head  and  tail  both 
up  now,  trotting  victoriously  through  the  trees,  his 
share  of  the  rope  dangling  from  his  horns.  Then  he 
was  gone. 

Gray  Jack  stopped,  and  stood  heaving,  with  ears 
pricked,  mildly  surprised. 

"  Oh,  pshaw ! "  bemoaned  Phil. 

"Busted  the  rope!  He's  always  doing  that,"  com- 
plained Chet,  arriving,  breathless.  "  Nobody  wants 
him,  anyway.     But  it's  fun  to  chase  him.     The  boys 


PHIL   ROPES    THE    STEER  113 

let  him  go  when  they  do  catch  him.  Nobody's  had 
a  rope  on  him  for  a  year,  I  bet." 

"Isn't  he  any  good?" 

"  Naw !  All  those  wild  cattle  are  tough  as  leather 
and  thin  as  coyotes.  Sometimes  we  shoot  'em,  when 
they  get  too  many,  for  their  hides.  But  only  the 
Indians  eat  'em.  That  steer  skipped  off  three  years 
ago.     He  must  be  a  four-year-old  now." 

"  How "  began  Phil ;  but  clear,  although  dis- 
tant, was  wafted  to  them  a  shot,  and  as  they  listened, 
another. 

"  Hunters,"  ventured  Phil,  in  response  to  Chet's 
startled  gaze. 

"  No.  There's  nobody  hunting  up  here  now,"  re- 
plied Chet;  and  added  soberly:  "  Fm  afraid  it's  dad. 
He's  met  the  rustlers." 

.With  sudden  energy  he  made  off  again  at  a  gallop, 
in  the  direction  whence  they  had  come;  and  Phil,  of 
course,  followed  hard  after. 


CHAPTER   XII 

COWMAN   SIMMS    MEETS    THE    MAN    WITH    THE    LIMP 

Chet  rode  furiously,  but  Phil  kept  Gray  Jack  close 
behind.  For  he  was  impressed  with  Chet's  grave 
intentness,  and  the  quick  action  that  followed;  and 
it  came  to  him  that  this  might  be  an  occasion  of  life 
or  death.  So  he  disregarded  the  buffeting  branches 
and  the  covert  pitfalls,  and  spurred  Gray  Jack  on. 

They  reached  the  base  of  the  hill  from  whose  bare 
top  they  had  discovered  the  wild  cattle,  and  forcing 
their  horses,  pushed  at  trot  and  lope  on  a  diagonal 
ascent.  The  thimble-berry  bushes  were  as  high  as  a 
rider's  knee.  Above,  beyond  them,  they  saw  another 
horseman  plunging  at  a  gallop  up  the  slope — leaning 
forward  in  his  saddle,  driving  in  his  spurs  relent- 
lessly. Phil's  heart  gave  a  jump;  but  Chet's  was  the 
quicker  eye,  again. 

"  That's  dad ! "  he  exclaimed.  And  he  yelled 
shrilly. 

The  figure  in  the  saddle  waved  his  hand  once  and 
pointed  to  the  crest  before  him,  and  rode  the  harder. 

"  Come  on ! "  urged  Chet,  as  if  incited  by  the  ges- 
ture. He  jerked  his  rifle  from  the  scabbard,  and 
he  too  rode  harder,  turning  his  horse  and  taking  the 
hill-side  more  direct. 

Mr.  Simms  was  at  the  top  before  them,  was  off  his 
horse  and  was  crouching  amidst  the  grass  and  rocks, 
f  114 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE   LIMP         115 

his  rifle  projecting  ready  for  use.  His  left  shoul- 
der was  stained  red.  A  rent  had  been  torn  in  his 
shirt-sleeve  there. 

"  Tumble  down,"  he  ordered  crisply. 

Chet  was  to  earth  in  a  twinkling,  and  beside  him. 

"Oh,  dad!"  he  gasped.    "Are  you  hurt  much?" 

"No.     Watch  for  them.     They'll  cross  yonder." 

"The  rustlers?" 

"Yes — but  don't  ask  questions  now." 

[Phil  had  a  hundred  of  them  on  his  tongue.  But 
he  imitated  Chet,  who  obediently  crouched  and  waited, 
saying  not  another  word. 

The  hill-top  was  quiet,  save  for  the  panting  of  the 
winded  horses.  The  sun  flooded  it,  the  sky  was  a 
wonderful  blue  above,  below  the  long  incline  of  grass 
and  bushes  fell  away  until  it  flowed  into  ever-present 
cedars.  Directly  before,  the  open  pasturage  extended 
like  a  wedge,  cleaving  a  broad  lane  through  the  tim- 
ber; and  it  was  upon  this  point  that  Mr.  Simms  and 
Chet  were  fixing  an  expectant  gaze. 

"  About  eight  hundred  yards,  Chet,"  said  Mr. 
Simms,  quietly.     "  But  we  can  reach  'em." 

Chet  looked  at  his  rear  sight  and  adjusted  it.  Then 
he  resumed  his  gaze.  Phil's  wide-open  eyes  wandered 
from  the  lane  to  Mr.  Simms's  red,  wet,  torn  shoulder, 
and  back  again.  It  was  the  rancher  himself  who 
chiefly  fascinated  him.  As  he  crouched  there,  motion- 
less, rifle  at  a  ready,  face  sternly  set,  hat  on  his 
eye-brows,  his  shoulder  crimson  and  uncared  for,  Mr. 
Simms  was  the  very  spirit  of  grim  vengeance.  And 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  Phil  that  while  Chet  might 


ii6  BAR   B    BOYS 

make  a  good  center  or  fullback,  and  lacked  that  much 
of  an  education,  he  fitted  in  perfectly  right  here  at 
his  father's  side. 

"  There  they  come,"  remarked  Mr.  Simms,  evenly. 
His  rifle  rose  to  his  shoulder;  Chet's  rose  to  his.  A 
group  of  moving  figures  had  emerged  from  the  trees 
fringing  one  edge  of  the  lane  and  v^ere  hurrying 
across.  They  were  in  the  shape  of  a  comma,  the 
dot  or  head  behind.  Phil  held  his  breath,  for  the 
fusillade.     But 

"Wait!  Wait,  Chet!  Wait,  I  tell  you!"  ejacu- 
lated Mr.  Simms.  He  struck  dov^n  Chet's  rifle-bar- 
rel and  lowered  his  own.  "  Oh,  the  cowards ! "  he 
berated.  "  The  dirty  cowards !  They're  hiding  be- 
hind the  girl.  They've  put  her  on  thi^  side.  See  her  ? 
They've  spied  our  hawsses.  We  don't  want  to  shoot 
a  girl,  Chet.  Not  that,  boy.  Let  'em  go.  I've  a 
notion  to  pick  off  a  burro — they're  in  the  lead — but 
no.  Let  'em  all  go.  We  might  hit  the  girl,  by  mis- 
take.   Pshaw ! " 

"  I  could  get  a  burro,  dad.  I  know  I  could," 
pleaded  Chet. 

"  I  said  no,"  reminded  his  father,  sternly.  "  We'll 
take  no  chances.  Well — hi,  look  at  that!  Their 
jacks  are  acting  up.  Good!  By  Henry,  I'll  make  that 
fellow  smell  lead.  No,  not  you,  Chet.  I'll  attend 
to  him." 

One  of  the  burros,  with  the  perversity  of  its  kind, 
had  bolted  aside  and  was  galloping  straight  down  the 
lane,  toward  the  base  of  the  hill  and  the  full  open. 
A  rider  left  the  group  and  madly  pursued  him.    The 


I 


THE   MAN   WITH    THE   LIMP         117 

group  hastened  on  and  entered  the  timber  again,  at 
the  farther  edge  of  the  lane.  Upon  this  distant  rider 
pursuing  the  recreant  burro  and  its  pack  the  attention 
of  Chet  and  Phil  now  focused. 

Chet  had  nervously  raised  his  gun,  but  at  his 
father's  injunction  had  arrested  its  course  half-way. 
Mr.  Simms's  cheek  was  pressed  against  his  rifle-stock, 
the  barrel  wavered  and  steadied,  poised  for  an  in* 
stant,  and — crack!     He  had  fired. 

The  burro  and  the  rider  were  bunched  in  a  flurry 
as  the  animal  was  being  headed  and  turned.  Crack! 
Crack  !  Crack  !  Three  times  more  in  rapid  succes- 
sion Mr.  Simms  had  pulled  the  trigger,  and  the  rifle 
had  spat  its  vicious  messages. 

"  Give  it  to  him,  Chet,  if  you  want  to,"  bade  the 
cattleman,  lowering  his  gun  with  a  short  laugh  and 
a  grimace  of  pain.  "  Blamed  if  I  didn't  get  the  burro 
after  all!" 

For  the  rider,  ducking  in  the  saddle  and  whipping 
with  his  hat,  was  scurrying  for  shelter.  The  burro 
was  a  dot  upon  the  ground  behind. 

"  Crack !  Crack ! "  spoke  Chet's  ready  rifle.  The 
rider  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

"  Well,  we've  got  the  jack,  anyway,"  said  Mr. 
Simms.  "  Don't  think  we  touched  the  man,  Chet. 
Innocent  bystander  was  the  one  to  be  hurt,  as  usual. 
But  they  were  so  mixed  up  I  couldn't  tell." 

He  laid  his  rifle  down  against  a  rock  and  twisted 
stiflly. 

"Look  at  my  shoulder,  will  you,  boys?"  he  asked. 
"I   reckon    it   needs   a   handkerchief  or   something 


ii8  BAR   B    BOYS 

around  it,  to  keep  the  dirt  out.  Just  rip  the  sleeve 
open." 

The  reaction  from  the  excitement  had  left  Phil  all 
a-tremble.  Chet,  after  staring  regretfully  at  the  tim- 
ber where  the  man  had  vanished,  laid  his  smoking 
rifle  down,  and  turned  to  his  father.  The  two  boys 
bared  the  shoulder  and  inspected  the  wound.  A  raw, 
red  furrow  was  cut  through  the  fleshy  part  of  the  arm, 
high  up. 

"  Gee !  "  said  Chet ;  and  Phil's  fingers  shrank. 

But  the  old-time  plainsman  and  rugged  Westerner 
only  smiled.  "That's  a  good  clean  wound,"  he  said. 
"  Better  than  a  hole.  It's  spoiled  a  shirt  for  me, 
though.    Tie  it  up  and  let's  be  moving." 

"How  did  it  happen,  dad?  Tell  us,"  prompted 
Chet,  to  the  great  relief  of  Phil  who  was  being  con- 
sumed with  curiosity. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  veteran,  stoically  enduring  the  manip- 
ulations while  they  tied  Phil's  white  handkerchief 
around  the  arm,  as  best  they  could.  "  I  was  follow- 
ing up  the  smell  of  hides  on  a  fresh  trail,  and  ran 
right  into  Phil's  lame  friend,  the  left-hander,  waiting 
in  the  timber.  I  said  *  Hello.'  He  said :  *  This  is  a 
bad  trail,  my  friend.'  I  said  *  It  smells  bad,  sure.' 
He  said :  *  Then  I'd  advise  you  to  turn  back.  It's 
a  mighty  unhealthy  smell.'  I  said :  *  You  aren't  look- 
ing very  well,  yourself.'  He  said:  *  You're  looking 
worse,'  and  first  thing  I  knew  up  came  a  six-shooter 
from  the  waist-band  of  his  trousers  and  bored  me  in 
the  arm,  and  he  was  making  off  as  fast  as  he  could 
run  his  horse.    One  of  the  quickest  little  acts  I  was 


THE    MAN    WITH    THE   LIMP         119 

ever  against,  too.  He's  lightning  on  the  draw,  that 
fellow ! " 

"  You  had  a  gun,  too,"  hinted  Phil. 

"  Um-m-m,  yes,"  mused  the  rancher.  "  We'll  all 
have  to  carry  guns,  if  such  gentry  roam  the  country. 
Even  Phil,  here;  though  I  don't  believe  in  'em.  But 
when  you  need  'em,  yuh  need  'em  bad." 

"You  shot.    We  heard  you,"  claimed  Chet. 

"Yes,  I  shot.  But  I  was  so  surprised  by  the  way 
he  worked  that  left-hand  draw  on  me,  when  I  hadn't 
raised  a  finger,  that  I  was  about  an  hour  late,"  ex- 
plained his  father.  His  face  set  for  an  instant,  and 
his  eyes  glinted  steel-blue,  steel-hard.  "  But  if  ever 
he  appears  over  my  sights,  and  doesn't  come  down  out 
of  his  tree,  God  have  mercy  on  his  soul.  No  man  shall 
try  to  pot  me  this  way,  and  expect  me  to  stand  for 
it.  I've  had  too  much  powder  burned  under  my  nose 
for  that;  I'm  not  one  o'  the  scary  kind." 

He  shoved  his  rifle  into  the  scabbard  and  painfully 
mounted  his  horse.  The  two  boys  mounted  and  they 
all  rode  down  the  hill. 

The  poor  burro  was  lying  upon  its  side,  its  four  legs 
stiffly  stretched  out,  its  head  extended,  the  pack  bulg- 
ing from  its  back.  A  ragged  hole  was  in  its  neck, 
where  a  soft-nosed  bullet  had  smashed  through. 

"  Pshaw ! "  complained  Mr.  Simms  regretfully.  "  I 
didn't  mean  to  kill  him.  You  boys  open  up  that  pack. 
I'd  better  stay  where  I  am." 

The  burro  was  small,  so  that  the  boys  could  turn  it 
over  by  the  legs — a  job  Phil  liked  little,  but  which 
Chet,   accustomed   to   life  and   death   on   the   range. 


I20  BAR  B    BOYS 

minded  not  at  all — and  speedily  they  had  loosed  the 
pack  and  opened  the  tarpaulin  cover.  Within,  as  had 
been  expected,  although  the  odor  was  not  pronounced, 
were  a  number  of  cowhides,  dried. 

"  What's  the  brand,  Chet  ?  "  asked  the  father  from 
his  horse. 

"  All  Lazy  8  but  one,  and  that's  a  TB,"  reported 
Chet,  examining. 

"Caught  with  the  goods  on,"  said  Mr.  Simms. 
"  And  botchy  work,  too,"  he  added,  inspecting  a  hide 
that  Phil  held  up  for  him.  "Anybody  with  half  an 
eye  could  read  that  brand  for  a  re-made — but  I  sup- 
pose it'd  pass  muster  where  such  hides  go.  Humph! 
Well,  the  Lazy  J  people  got  it  worse  than  we,  this 
haul,  but  like  as  not  another  pack  '11  be  Bar  B.  These 
fellows  must  have  had  a  cache  around  here  some- 
wheres,  and  were  moving  out  in  a  hurry.  All  right; 
tie  the  hides  on  behind  us  and  we'll  move,  too.  We've 
lost  the  cows,  but  we're  ahead  the  hides  and  a  pack- 
saddle." 

They  left  the  stripped  burro,  stiff  and  still  upon 
the  ground  amidst  the  grass  and  flowers,  to  the 
buzzards  and  coyotes,  and  rode  away  through  the 
cedars. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  *  Wild  West '  by  this  time, 
boy?"  inquired  Mr.  Simms,  over  his  shoulder  to 
Phil. 

"  Pretty  well."  Phil  was  yet  prickling  with  the 
gallop,  the  rifle-shots,  the  escape  and  the  dead  burro; 
and  the  sensation  of  what  these  very  cedars  might  be 
concealing.     Would  the  rustlers  be  in  ambush,   for 


THE   MAN    WITH    THE   LIMP        121 

revenge?  But  the  veteran  cattleman  was  apparently 
as  callous  to  this  last  contingency  as  he  was  to  his 
wounded  shoulder  and  rode  straight  on. 

"There  are  two  varmints  I  hate,  above  ground," 
he  declared.  "  A  hide  thief  and  a  child  thief — and 
it  looks  as  if  we  had  the  two  in  one,  in  that  gang. 
I  hope  before  they  quit  the  country  for  keeps  we  get 
*em  corraled." 

"  When  you  catch  them,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"I  trust  you  won't  be  there  to  see,''  replied  Mr. 
Simms. 

And  even  Chet  volunteered  no  further  information. 

They  came  out  of  the  cedars  upon  the  rim  of  a 
draw>  and  descended.  At  the  bottom  the  trail  dipped 
into  an  arroyo;  into  this  Mr.  Simms  abruptly  turned 
and  followed  it  down,  between  the  high  adobe  banks. 

"  Here's  your  camp,  Phil,"  he  announced,  halting. 

Phil's  eyes  suddenly  widened.  Sure  enough!  The 
hole  for  water,  the  charred  sticks,  burro  tracks,  boot 
tracks ;  there  the  three  men  had  been  lounging ;  across, 
against  the  opposite  bank,  the  dirty-faced  girl  had 
been  sitting.  Sure  enough!  And  he  had  not  recog- 
nized until  Mr.  Simms  had  spoken!  Plainly  he  had 
much  to  learn  in  the  way  of  using  those  eyes  and  that 
brain  of  his. 

"Aw,  Phil!"  derided  Chet.  "I  bet  you'd  have 
ridden  right  past  it." 

And  so,  very  likely,  he  would.  But  the  mesa  coun- 
try can  confuse  very  easily ;  and  for  many  weeks  Phil 
was  constantly  being  astonished  at  finding  himself  in 
a  spot  unexpectedly  revisited. 


122  BAR   B    BOYS 

**  The  birds  have  flown,"  remarked  Mr.  Simms, 
proceedmg.  "So  this  is  your  arroyo,  is  it?  Well, 
it's  the  head  of  Ute  Draw;  and  that  hill  we  were  on 
is  little  Squaw  Mountain.  Now  you  know  where  we 
are.  But  I  hadn't  supposed  you  were  in  this  far  yes- 
terday." 

He  spurred  his  horse  up  a  shelving  place  of  the 
bank,  where  Phil  had  not  thought  to  go;  Chet 
promptly  did  likewise;  and  Gray  Jack  followed,  with 
a  heave  and  a  grunt,  of  his  own  accord. 

Instead  of  pursuing  on  down  the  succession  of 
draws,  the  rancher  cut  across,  climbed  the  right-hand 
slope  again,  and  at  trot  and  fast  walk  laid  a  course 
as  if  he  knew  perfectly  where  he  was  going. 

They  crossed  a  wide  reach  of  cedars,  went  sliding 
and  plowing  down  a  long  incline  of  trees  and  soft, 
loose  earth,  and  striking  a  single  trail  which  gradu- 
ally waxed  more  traveled  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
Lazy  J  camp — corral  and  log  shack  set  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  same  sagy  flat  which  extended  clear  to  the 
Bar  B,  eighteen  miles  north. 

Dick,  the  boyish  Lazy  J  rider  of  the  automatic  pis- 
tol and  Chief  Billy  episode,  was  alone  at  the  camp, 
and  was  just  starting  dinner.  The  reddened  handker- 
chief about  Mr.  Simms's  shoulder  told  him  that  some- 
thing had  happened,  and  while  the  wound  was  being 
washed  afresh  the  cattleman  told  him  more. 

"  Thunder ! "  sympathized  Dick.  "  When  I  saw 
you  fellows  ridin'  in  I  thought  you  had  deer  or  bear 
packed  on  your  saddles.  We'll  have  to  get  those 
rustlers,  shore." 


THE   MAN    WITH   THE   LIMP        123 

And  this  was  the  opinion  of  the  other  men  who 
soon  arrived:  Ford  and  Buster,  Henry  of  the  Lazy 
J  (Dick's  partner),  and  a  stray  Flying  U  rider  bound 
on  down  to  "  town." 

"  So  you  missed  him,  too,  did  you,  Chet  ?  "  ban- 
tered Henry.  "  And  what  was  this  other  boy  doin'  ? 
Lookin'  on,  scared  stiff  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  any  gun,"  defended  Chet,  hastily. 
"  But  he  roped  the  banded  steer.  We  saw  those 
Squaw  Mountain  wild  cattle,  and  cut  the  old  steer 
out  and  Phil  roped  him !  " 

The  incident  had  been  lost  sight  of,  to  date — over- 
shadowed by  the  sterner  excitement ;  but  now  it  could 
be  made  the  most  of. 

"Roped  him,  did  he?    Well,  where's  the  steer?" 

"  The  rope  broke  and  he  went  off,"  explained  Phil, 
modestly. 

"  Plumb  busted,"  affirmed  Chet,  staunchly.  "  It 
was  a  rotten  old  rope  of  Buster's.  And  then  we  heard 
the  shooting  and  made  for  it.  But  we  can  show  you 
the  rope,  what's  left  of  it,  on  Phil's  saddle — can't  we 
Phil?" 

The  men  gravely  accorded  Phil  his  due. 

"  That  banded  steer  has  busted  many  a  rope,"  said 
the  Flying  U  rider. 

"  I  threw  on  him  just  by  accident,  anyway,"  con- 
fessed Phil.  "The  loop  was  all  twisted."  Which 
was  the  truth.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  men 
viewed  him  with  a  certain  increased  respect.  To  rope 
the  banded  steer  evidently  was  quite  a  feat — even 
if  he  got  away! 


124  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  How  was  he  lookin',  Chet  ?  "  asked  Buster. 

"  Fine  as  silk  and  as  thin  as  ever." 

**  Must  have  come  through  the  winter  in  good 
shape.  I  haven't  had  a  sight  of  him  this  spring  yet. 
Guess  I'll  ride  over  there  some  day  jus'  on  purpose," 
vouchsafed  Buster. 

"  Don't  reckon  he's  missin'  yuh  much,"  observed 
the  Flying  U  man. 

"  I  dunno.  He  might,"  returned  Buster  soberly. 
"  I  was  the  one  who  lost  him,  wasn't  I  ?  An'  I'm 
responsible  for  him.  He  likes  to  play  with  me,  that 
steer  does — an'  when  yu  fellers  are  chasin'  him  an' 
puttin'  ropes  on  him,  yu  needn't  go  to  be  rough  with 
him.     I'm  trainin'  him  to  lick  a  b'ar." 

"  He  could  do  it,  all  right,"  averred  Mr.  Simms. 
"  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  had.  He's  boss  of  that 
range." 

After  dinner  the  Bar  B  party  saddled  up;  and  leav- 
ing the  "Lazy  8"  hides  (which,  of  course,  were 
originally  Lazy  J)  and  taking  the  solitary  "TB" 
(which,  of  course,  originally  was  Bar  B),  accom- 
panied by  the  Flying  U  man  rode  away  down  the 
sagy  flat  for  the  Bar  B  ranch.  Ford  and  Buster 
had  encountered  nothing  of  special  significance  on 
their  circle,  but  had  done  a  day's  work,  just  the 
same. 

They  rode  slowly — Mr.  Simms's  wound  was  sore 
and  sensitive;  occasionally  Ford  and  Buster  dashed 
aside  in  a  detour  to  inspect  cattle.  All  agreed  that  the 
"  cows  "  were  coming  down  excellently  and  that  the 
roundup  might  be  started  soon. 


I 


THE   MAN    WITH    THE   LIMP        125 

Turning,  at  the  end  of  the  flat,  they  crossed  the 
little  rise,  beyond  which,  over  the  creek,  nestled  the 
log  ranch-buildings,  forded  the  creek,  and  were  back 
again  at  what  Phil  was  beginning  to  regard  as  his 
wilderness  home. 

"There's  Hombre!"  exclaimed  Chet.  "Hello, 
Hombre." 

"Com'  lava,  Hombre?" 

"  Bueno,  amigo." 

To  these  salutations  and  others,  delivered  during 
the  brisk  unsaddling,  Hombre  responded  gayly.  He 
was  a  short,  bow-legged  little  man,  with  very  swarthy 
face,  and  black  eyes,  and  white  teeth  constantly  flash- 
ing in  a  grin.  Plainly  enough  he  was  a  favorite,  and 
also  a  Mexican — and  furthermore,  good-natured.  He 
had  not  removed  his  leather  chaps,  nor  his  huge  spurs, 
and  his  horse  was  standing  tied  loosely  to  the  rail. 
So  Hombre  was  not  to  stay  long. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Somebody  shoot  you  ?  "  he 
queried,  alertly,  helping  Mr.  Simms  unbuckle  the 
cinches  and  remove  saddle  and  bridle. 

"  Yes,  Hombre.  They  got  the  old  man  this  time." 
The  rancher  walked  wearily  and  stiffly  away,  but 
paused  en  route  to  pass  a  hand,  critically,  along  Gray 
Jack's  back.  Apparently  satisfied  that  no  injury  was 
being  caused  by  Phil's  riding  he  continued  on  to  his 
office  and  living-room. 

"  Wouldn't  he  use  any  bear's  grease  ?  "  asked  Phil, 
eagerly,  of  Chet.  "  I've  some  left.  I'll  get  it.  It's 
dandy  stuff." 

Chet  stopped  him. 


126  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  Uh,  uh.  He's  got  something  else.  The  strongest 
regular  old  horse  liniment  you  ever  smelt.  Gee,  but 
it  hurts.  Wait  and  you'll  hear  him  yell.  But  it's 
sure  good." 

*'  It  shore  is,"  concurred  Buster,  solemnly.  "  Best 
thing  /  ever  tried.  There  ain't  nothin'  she  won't 
touch.  Goes  right  through,  a-lookin',  that  linnyment 
does." 

"  Besides  being  an  excellent  piano  polish,  hair  oil 
and  tabasco  sauce,"  supplemented  Ford,  with  sly  sar- 
casm. 

Buster  eyed  him,  surprised  and  hurt,  but  could  mus- 
ter no  retort  other  than  a  dogged :  "  She's  an  all 
right  linnyment.  She's  made  out  East  at  Kansas 
City." 

"  Meester  Simms — ^how'd  he  get  hurt  ? "  appealed 
Hombre;  but  explanation  was  postponed  by  a  sudden 
outburst  of  gasps  and  grunts  and  groans,  issuing 
from  the  ranch  office  and  swelling  into  a  series  of 
staccato  whoops. 

"  He's  putting  some  on,"  giggled  Chet.  "  Glad  it 
ain't  me,  aren't  you?" 

"  She's  a-workin',"  said  Buster,  with  faith. 

And  while  Phil  hearkened,  awe-stricken,  to  the 
medley  of  ejaculations  issuing  from  the  office,  Mr. 
Simms  issued  too — bolting  hatless  and  wild  out  of 
the  doorway  and  gyrating  spasmodically  at  walk  and 
leap  about  the  yard.  The  men  looked  gravely  on. 
Only  Chet  ventured  applause  or  levity. 

"  By  Henry !  "  panted  the  rancher,  halting  at  last, 
his  pangs  eased,  and  mopping  his  wet,  flushed  face. 


THE   MAN    WITH    THE   LIMP        127 

"  I  guess  that  dose  '11  hold  me  for  a  while.  But  I 
thought  my  shoulder  was  eaten  plumb  off." 

"  She's  powerful,  that  linnyment,"  murmured  Bus- 
ter, approvingly. 

Nevertheless,  it  seemed  to  Phil  that  he  would  prefer 
for  himself  the  bear's  grease — a  panacea  not  so  ener- 
getic. 

Mr.  Simms  returned,  with  satisfied  pace,  to  his 
office. 

"  Ought  to  tie  the  ol'  man  out  for  wolf  bait,'*  com- 
mented the  Flying  U  rider,  sniffing.  "  They'd  shorely 
smell  him  a  mile." 

"  But  when  they  got  close  to  heem,  they  run,  I 
bet,"  said  Hombre.  "  Now,  somebody  tell  me  who 
hurt  Meester  Simms." 

"  I  reckon  those  fellows  '11  make  themselves  scarce 
around  here  for  a  while,"  vouchsafed  Mr.  Simms, 
pushing  back  from  the  head  of  the  supper  table,  at 
which  the  topic  of  rustlers  had  been  coolly  but  de- 
terminedly discussed.  "  But  they'll  come  back.  It's 
too  easy  a  country  to  work.  Maybe  we'll  get  'em  in 
the  roundup." 

His  arm  appeared  to  be  much  better.  The  lini- 
ment possessed  virtues,  if  rough  ones.  The  com- 
pany stamped  out  into  the  yard.  Old  Jess  staying  in 
to  do  the  dishes.  In  the  yard  Hombre  smiled  upon 
Phil  and  accosted  him  pleasantly :  "  You  rope  the 
banded  steer,  eh  ?  Bueno !  I  try  to  rope  heem,  three 
time,  an'  ever'  time  he  get  away." 

"  He  got  away  from  us,  too.     My  rope  broke," 


128  BAR   B    BOYS 

responded  Phil.  "  Then  we  heard  the  shooting,  and 
we  thought  of  the  rustlers  and  went  in  a  hurry  to 
help." 

"  You  come  up  to  my  hoss  camp.  No  rustlers  at 
my  hoss  camp,"  invited  Hombre. 

"All  right.     I'd  like  to,  Hombre.     How  far  is  it?" 

"  Fourteen  mile.  But  I  bring  the  bosses  down  to- 
morrow, mebbe.  We  all  go  on  rodeo — what  you  call 
roundup.  Where's  your  rope?  You  got  busted  part? 
Eet  rotten,  mebbe." 

"See?"  proffered  Phil.  "But  it  was  just  an  old 
rope  of  Buster's." 

"  Heem  no  good,  I  guess,"  adjudged  Hombre,  ex- 
amining. "  You  tie  a  hondo  knot  ?  This  way.  Now 
you  got  short  rope." 

Phil  idly  swung  the  noose,  in  orthodox  fashion, 
just  to  show  that  he  knew  how  (had  he  not  roped  the 
banded  steer?)  and  cast  it  at  Tom  the  cat  (this,  he 
felt,  was  the  approved  ranch  custom)  who  was  sit- 
ting, back  turned,  washing  his  face  after  supping  with 
Old  Jess. 

The  circle  actually  fell  true.  Tom,  startled,  jumped 
grotesquely;  and  at  Phil's  malicious  jerk  the  noose 
tightened  forward  of  Tom's  hind  quarters. 

A  shout  of  applause  from  the  spectators  instantly 
merged  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  With  a  yowl  and  a 
squirm,  finding  himself  held,  Tom  launched  himself  at 
his  tormentor — and,  as  Ford  put  it,  for  a  minute 
Phil's  face  was  "  full  of  cats." 

Passing  on,  over  Phil,  Tom  bounded  away,  stub 


THE  MAN   WITH   THE   LIMP        129 

and  body  swollen  with  rage,  for  a  short  distance  drag- 
ging the  rope,  but  soon  leaving  it. 

"  Roped  more  'n  you  knew  what  to  do  with,  that 
time,"  asserted  Old  Jess,  whom  the  noise  had  drawn 
to  the  door.  "  He  won't  stand  for  much  foolin', 
that  cat,  since  the  coyote  trap  took  his  tail  off." 

This  was  the  general  opinion;  and  while  the  spec- 
tators were  still  rolling  and  whooping,  in  their  mirth, 
Phil  ruefully  retired  to  count  his  new  scratches. 
Maybe  this  had  been  a  game  put  up  on  him — but  any- 
way, he  would  in  future  respect  Tom. 

It  had  been  another  eventful  day. 


CHAPTER   XIII 


"  How  do  you  like  that  Gray  Jack  hawss,  boy  ?  " 
inquired  Mr.  Simms,  casually. 

"  First  rate — except  he  made  my  back  ache  a  little. 
I  guess  he  has  a  hard  trot/'  ventured  Phil. 

"  I  reckon  it's  the  boy  more  than  the  hawss/' 
drawled  the  cattleman.  "  Trouble  is,  you  ride  leaning 
a  little  too  far  back.  You  want  to  sit  straight,  with 
your  spine  held  stiff  so  it  doesn't  wobble.  That's  the 
way  we  ride.  That's  the  way  all  cowmen  ride,  you'll 
notice.  Long  stirrup,  and  straight  up  and  down  from 
heel  to  head.  It's  the  only  way  to  sit  a  saddle  day  in 
and  day  out.  Then  your  back  won't  ache.  Take  the 
saddle  full  and  square,  and  don't  dodge  it." 

"All  right.  I  mean  to,"  said  Phil  meekly.  He 
had  thought  himself  quite  a  rider. 

"Reckoned  I'd  tell  yuh,  because  we  haven't  done 
any  riding  yet.  But  if  you  stay  through  the  roundup 
you'll  see  some." 

Phil  mentioned  his  back,  it  being  the  least  of  his 
troubles.  He  did  not  mention  the  gouges  in  his 
two  shins,  where  the  stirrup-irons  were  remorse- 
lessly eating,  nor  the  twin  welts  on  his  inner  thighs 
and  now  as  large  as  his  finger,  where  the  saddle  seams 
were  rubbing,  rubbing;  nor  the  crick  in  his  knees, 

130 


PHIL    RECEIVES   HIS    "STRING"     131 

which  made  him  walk  uncertainly  when  he  had  dis- 
mounted, and  rise  and  sit  with  snap  of  joints  and  an 
effort ! 

No.  Uh,  uh.  None  should  ever  know.  He  ob- 
served that  his  companions  endured  all  discomforts 
with  stoicism  (the  horse  liniment  must  have  indeed 
been  fierce  to  wring  from  Mr.  Simms  such  a  momen- 
tary exhibition)  and  he  rather  fancied  that  by  com- 
plaining he  would  gain  little.  Nobody  could  alter  con- 
ditions. Mr.  Simms  had  done  his  all  in  telling  him 
how  to  ride — and  that  the  soreness  would  be  worn  off 
in  the  riding.  But  Jiminy!  Those  shin-gouges  and 
those  thigh-welts  made  him  wince — ^particularly  in 
the  morning. 

Mr.  Simms's  wound  was  healing  rapidly.  The 
topic  of  the  rustlers  was  being  sidetracked  for  the 
topic  of  the  approaching  roundup. 

Hombre  and  Haney  brought  down  the  rest  of  the 
horses  from  the  winter  range,  and  turned  them  into 
the  pasture.  There  were  now  about  fifty  horses  to- 
gether— quite  an  array  as  they  bunched  in  the  corral. 
Three  were  branded  there — Haney  and  Buster 
"  scotching "  them  up  (hobbling  them,  with  a  rope, 
on  three  legs),  and  with  a  hot  iron  stamping  on  their 
right  shoulders  a  Circle  Dot,0  the  sign  of  the  Bar 
B  horse-herd. 

While  the  usual  riding  was  continued,  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  near  event  progressed  steadily.  On  a 
rainy  day,  of  the  four  which  intervened,  all  hands 
turned  to  and  patched  a  set  of  panniers,  and  sewed 
them  with  rope — for  the  Bar  B  was  to  take  a  pack 


132  BAR   B    BOYS 

train  to  the  rendezvous  and  the  Lazy  J  was  to  "run 
the  wagon  "  this  year.  Several  of  the  horses  must  be 
cold  shod — a  feat  neatly  accomplished  by  whoever 
was  at  liberty.  Ford  re-shod  Gray  Jack  and  Pepper, 
for  Phil — the  two  having  been  allotted,  evidently,  to 
the  guest.  Moreover,  individual  personal  equipment 
was  overhauled.  Cinches  were  strengthened,  saddle 
thongs  replaced,  bridles  repaired,  stitches  taken  in 
clothing,  Haney  even  cobbling  his  boots,  and  Buster 
and  Chet  cutting  each  other's  hair ! 

Ford  worried  openly  lest  a  new  pair  of  chaps  that 
he  had  ordered  should  not  arrive  in  time  for  him  to 
get  them. 

"  Didn't  order  them  from  Bawston,  did  yuh, 
Ford  ?  "  commented  Old  Jess,  as  a  sly  thrust. 

Ford  blushed  and  let  all  laugh. 

"  Ford's  havin'  'em  made  to  o'duh — done  cut 
'cordin'  to  latest  fashion  at  that  college  he  went  tuh," 
drawled  Haney.  "  They'll  come  with  ruffles  'round 
the  aidges." 

But  Phil  had  noted  that  despite  his  Boston  and 
Harvard  antecedents  Ford  was  as  good  with  rope  and 
horse  as  anybody  at  the  ranch,  and  was  vastly  popu- 
lar. 

The  extra  saddle,  which  came  down  along  with  the 
horses,  Phil  found  to  be  double  rigged,  and  not  so 
worn  as  Old  Jess's,  which  he  had  been  riding.  Only 
it  galled  him  in  nezv  places,  and  doubled  his  sores. 
Ford  fitted  a  cap  of  green  cow-hide,  hair  side  out, 
over  the  horn,  where  it  dried  and  tightened. 

"  Some  men  like  that.     They  think  it  gives  a  bet- 


PHIL    RECEIVES    HIS    "STRING"      133 

ter  grip  in  taking  their  dallies,"  vouchsafed  Ford, 
admiring  his  job. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Phil.  He  ventured  a  question.  "  What 
are  dallies?" 

"  Some  men  ride  with  the  rope-end  fast  tied  to  the 
horn,"  explained  Ford.  "  Most  of  us  in  here  don't, 
but  we  carry  it  in  the  coil,  and  when  we  want  to 
hold  an  animal  we  take  a  quick  twist  with  it  around 
the  horn." 

"  Take  yore  dallies ;  that's  right,"  approved  Buster. 
"  Never  ketch  me  ropin'  with  my  lash-end  fast  'fore 
I  throw.  Not  on  yore  life!  I  want  to  be  able  tuh 
let  loose  when  I  have  to." 

"  It's  shuah  dangerous,  in  the  mountain  country ; 
never  did  it,  myself,  daown  on  the  plains,"  averred 
Haney. 

"  What  does  dallies  mean  ?  "  asked  Phil. 

"  Blamed  if  I  know,"  confessed  Ford.  "  What  is  it, 
Buster — Mexican  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Buster. 

"  Powerful  word,  that,"  bantered  Haney.  "  Man 
from  college,  he  don't  know ;  an'  man  who's  never  been 
out  o'  the  mountains,  he  don't  know.'* 

"  Do  you  know  ?  "  demanded  Ford. 

**An'  red-headed  puncher  from  Texas,  he  don't 
know,"  concluded  Haney. 

Anyway,  the  maroon  hide  cap  looked  very  tasty,  and 
lent  to  the  saddle  an  air  of  distinction. 

About  the  ranch  itself  was  an  atmosphere  of  subdued 
gayety,  as  if  a  holiday  was  near.  Even  Old  Jess  sang, 
while  he  greased  his  rawhide  rope : 


134  BAR   B    BOYS 

"There  was  Hep  an*  Texas  an'  Broncho  Jack, 

Jiggers  an'  me  an'  Bean, 
An'  we  loved  a  gal  by  the  name  o'  Sal, 

A  regular  rancho  queen. 

"Oh,  it's  treat  the  cook  with  a  pleasant  look. 

It's  sleep  in  the  prickly  pear; 
It's  all  day,  oh,  on  the  ro-day-o; 

An'  you  bet  you  we'll  be  there. 


Prime  mover  in  the  bantering  and  good  nature  was 
Hombre,  the  Mexican.  Wherever  he  went  he  made  a 
smile ;  the  flash  of  his  teeth  was  a  veritable  inspiration. 
Phil  liked  him. 

"  You  never  been  on  roundup,  eh  ?  "  he  asked  of 
Phil. 

"  Never  in  my  life,"  assured  Phil. 

"Ah,  you  mees  it.  Now  you  have  great  fun. 
Roundup  are  peeknic.  All  the  boys  get  out,  an'  meet, 
an'  work,  an'  play  an'  have  beeg  grand  time.  Ever'- 
body  from  Bar  B  go.  Ol'  Jess  go,  I  go,  ever'body  but 
Tom.     He  stay  an'  keep  house." 

"  Chet  said  you  would  make  me  some  spurs.  Will 
you,  Hombre?"  suggested  Phil. 

"  You  call  me  Hombre,  too  ?  All  right.  My  name 
Manuel.  But  I  never  hear  it.  *  Hombre '  he  mean 
*  man  '  in  Mexicano.  No  cara.  Good  'nough  for  me. 
What  kind  spurs,  hey.    Nice,  fine  pair  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  All  right.  You  bet.  Set  'em  dimes  all  'round, 
hey?  Mebbe  set  'em  silver  in  wheel,  too.  You  see, 
after  roundup." 


PHIL    RECEIVES    HIS    "STRING"      135 

"Yes;  after  the  roundup,  Hombre,  if  I  stay.  I've 
got  to  hear  from  my  father  and  mother  first." 

A  cunning  spur-maker  was  Hombre,  and  all  the 
Bar  B  men  wore  his  handicraft.  His  specialty  was  in- 
laying the  steel  with  silver  coins.  Possessing  such 
a  pair  of  spurs  Phil  felt  that  he  might  be  perfectly 
happy. 

"What  bosses  in  your  string,  hey?"  queried  Hom- 
bre.    "  You  know  yet  ?  " 

Phil  shook  his  head.  This  point  had  bothered  him. 
The  subject  of  strings  was  a  favorite,  just  now,  at 
the  ranch,  and  the  bunk-house  discussions  had  been 
long  and  animated.  A  "  string,"  Phil  had  ascer- 
tained, was  the  allotment  of  "  hawsses  "  to  each  man. 
On  the  roundup  each  Bar  B  delegate  was  to  have  six, 
and  already  the  six  apiece  had  been  picked  out. 
Hombre's  question  set  him  to  thinking. 

"  What  horses  will  you  ride,  Chet?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  going  to  have  Teddy  and  Flannel  Mouth, 
but  dad's  given  'em  to  Jess,"  complained  Chet.  "  So 
now  I  suppose  I'll  have  the  same  I  had  last  year — 
Ute  and  Nigger  and  Camel  Face  and  Monte  and 
Rover  and  old  Thunder.  Three  of  'em  are  good  and 
three  ain't.     Has  dad  given  you  your  string?" 

That  was  exactly  what  Phil  wanted  to  be  asked,  and 
he  answered  promptly. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Maybe  he's  waiting  to  see  if  I 
can  stay." 

"  Aw,  you  want  to  get  'em  anyway,"  asserted  Chet. 
"  Gee !  If  you  don't  all  the  horses  but  the  old  plugs'U 
be  taken  out.     Come  on.     We'll  go  and  see  him." 


136 


BAR   B    BOYS 


Mr.  Simms  listened  to  Chet's  appeal,  and  fingered 
his  goatee. 

"  Um-m,  well,"  he  said.  "  Let^s  see.  What  three 
you  been  riding,  Phil?" 

"  Pepper  and  Gray  Jack  and  Red  Bird." 

"  You  might  as  well  keep  those,  then ;  and  take 
Medicine  Eye  and  Bowlegs.  Five  will  be  about  all  we 
can  spare.    That's  enough  for  you,  anyway,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Are  those  others  any  good  ? "  besought  Phil, 
anxiously,  when  he  and  Chet  were  outside  again. 

"  Medicine  Eye  I  used  to  ride.  He's  pretty  good," 
stated  Chet,  judicially.  "  But  Bowlegs  tumbles  down 
all  the  time.  And  you  want  to  watch  out  you  don't 
cinch  Medicine  Eye  too  tight  with  the  hind  cinch,  or 
he'll  buck,  sure.  He  bucked  me  off  once,  and  he's 
bucked  off  Buster.  But  he  hasn't  bucked  for  a  year 
now." 

"I  got  my  string,  Hombre,"  Phil  was  enabled  to 
announce,  proudly. 

"What'd  you  draw,  Smith-Jones?"  put  in  Haney, 
lolling,  whittling  and  waiting  for  supper. 

"  Pepper  and  Gray  Jack  and  Red  Bird  and  Bowlegs 
and  Medicine  Eye.     Five  is  all  I  can  have." 

"  Want  to  know !  "  exclaimed  Haney.  "  When  you 
uncohk  that  Medicine  Eye  I  hope  I'm  there  to  see. 
Bad  hawss,  that  ol'  Medicine  Eye.  Glad  he  ain't 
in  my  string." 

"jWhy?     What  does  he  do?" 

**  Bucks,  an'  pitches,  an'  pin-wheels,  an'  sun-fishes, 
an'  bawls,  an'  rares,  an'  runs,  an'  bites,  an'  kicks,  an' 


PHIL    RECEIVES    HIS    "STRING"     137 

changes  end,  an'  a  few  other  little  things,  when  he 
ain't  feelin'  jes'  right.  'D  rather  ride  any  hawss  in 
the  herd  than  him,  myself." 

"  Chet  says  if  I  don't  cinch  him  too  tight  behind 
he's  all  right." 

Haney  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "  You  got  him. 
I  don't  want  him.  No,  suh.  I  been  ridin'  fifteen 
years,  but  that  Medicine  Eye  has  me  plumb  scaired." 

'*  Anything  the  matter  with  Bowlegs  ? "  inquired 
Phil,  now  alarmed. 

"  Bowlegs  ?  You  got  him  too  ?  "  Haney  again 
shook  dubious,  pitying  head.  "  Only  trouble  with  him 
is  when  you  pull  on  the  bit  he  stands  up  an'  tumbles 
over  backward." 

It  seemed  to  Phil  rather  inhospitable  that  Mr. 
Simms  should  foist  some  of  the  worst  horses  off  upon 
him,  a  stranger  and  a  boy.  The  peculiarities  of  Medi- 
cine Eye  and  Bowlegs  rankled  in  his  mind,  and  he 
finally  tentatively  carried  the  matter  up  to  Old  Jess. 

"  Who's  been  tellin'  yuh  ?  "  asked  Old  Jess,  with  a 
trace  of  a  smile  on  his  wrinkled  leathery  countenance. 

"Haney  and  everybody  at  the  bunk-house." 

"  They  like  to  shoot  it  into  yuh,  an'  scare  you  a 
bit.  But  I  reckon  Medicine  Eye  used  to  pitch  a  little, 
when  he  tuk  a  notion.  Mebbe  he  does  yet,  sometimes. 
Never  heard  o'  Bowlegs  fallin'  back.  If  he  does,  you 
want  to  swing  clear  an'  let  him  tumble.  An'  if  a 
hawss  pitches  under  yuh,  'tain't  goin'  to  hurt  yuh. 
Stay  with  him,  an'  when  you  can't  stay  no  longer, 
pick  a  soft  spot  to  light  on !    We  all  get  a  bad  hawss 


13' 


soon  or  late,  an'  the  cowman  takes  what  's  given  him, 
an'  says  nothin'.  So  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  go  talkin' 
'bout  my  string  as  if  I  didn't  like  it,  but  I'd  ride  it  turn 
about,  same  as  the  other  punchers,  an'  do  my  work. 
Can't  have  all  top  hawsses — an'  you're  the  green  man 
o'  this  outfit,  remember." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE     MAN   WITH     THE     FROZEN     SMILE,   AGAIN 

So  they  rode  away  to  the  spring,  or  calf,  roundup 
—this  Bar  B  company:  Mr.  Simms,  the  veteran  and 
ideal  type  of  the  Western  cowman;  Old  Jess,  a 
puncher  of  the  Southwest  when  the  Southwest  was  in 
its  heyday;  Ford,  cowboy  of  Boston  and  Harvard; 
Haney,  cowboy  of  Texas ;  Buster,  cowboy  of  the  Colo- 
rado hills;  Hombre,  sunny  Mexican  and  horse  wran- 
gler; Chet,  in  his  shaggy  chaps,  and  Phil.  And  quite 
a  company  they  were,  too,  as  they  drove  before  them 
their  fifty  horses. 

Old  Tom,  the  great  brindled  bob-tail  cat,  was  left  at 
the  ranch. 

"You  needn't  worry  about  Tom,"  declared  Mr. 
Simms.  "  He  knows  how  to  forage  for  himself. 
Nothing's  going  to  get  him  if  he  sees  it  first,  and  he 
usually  does.  He  has  a  nest  where  he  sleeps,  up  un- 
der the  roof  of  the  blacksmith  shop." 

"  He'll  have  a  good  time,  that  cat  will,"  commented 
Buster.     "  Nobody  ropin'  him  or  botherin'." 

Phil  had  fallen  heir  to  the  old  chaps  which  were 
hanging  in  the  bunk-house,  and  to  a  single  spur 
which  he  had  manufactured  out  of  certain  remains. 
Blankets,  quilts  and  a  wagon  sheet  had  been  found  him 
for  his  bed,  and  with  Chet's  bed,  also,  were  tied  upon 
Red  Bird's  back,  that  horse  now  ambling  along  with 

139 


I40 


BAR   B    BOYS 


the  other  animals.  Phil  elected  to  ride  Pepper.  Chet 
was  upon  Camel  Face — a  large  raw-boned  sorrel  with 
a  humped  nose  and  a  pendant  lower  lip  that  flopped 
idiotically  at  every  step. 

"Is  Pepper  your  top  hawss?"  with  professional 
broadness  queried  Chet,  as  they  rode. 

"  I  guess  so.    Is  Camel  Face  yours  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  not !  I've  got  two,  Monte  and  Thun- 
der. But  Vm  saving  my  top  hawsses  for  some  big 
circles." 

**  I've  got  two,  too/'  decided  Phil.  "  Pepper  and 
Gray  Jack.  It's  Pepper's  turn  to-day,  though,  so  I'm 
riding  him." 

The  way  to  the  roundup  rendezvous,  where  all  the 
cow  outfits  of  the  district  were  to  meet,  for  the  Bar 
B  led  down  Owl  Creek,  following  a  rude  wagon  trail 
that  with  occasional  detours  took  the  general  course 
of  the  stream.  Through  sage  and  greasewood  and 
over  gravelly  swells  the  Bar  B  company  pushed  stead- 
ily on,  the  horses  spreading  out  and  snatching  hasty 
mouthfuls  of  herbage  as  they  passed. 

Chet  and  Buster  and  Phil  rode  behind  the  herd,  driv- 
ing; the  rest  of  the  party  rode  before,  leading. 

"  That  ol'  white  mare,  she's  the  or'nery  one  o'  the 
bunch,"  quoth  Buster.  **  She  an'  that  colt  o'  her's — 
A-a-a-a — what's  the  matter  with  yu !  " 

For  the  white  mare  aforesaid,  with  her  colt  trot- 
ting beside  her,  had  again  turned  into  a  draw  open- 
ing into  the  flat,  and  with  a  dozen  other  horses  follow- 
ing her  guidance  was  perversely  trotting  off  up  a  trail. 
The  defection  being  on  Phil's  flank  he  was  away  in- 


MAN    WITH    THE   FROZEN    SMILE      141 

stantly,  to  head  the  truants,  and  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity.    Chet  came  pounding  after. 

Up  the  draw  galloped  the  errant  band,  led  by  the 
old  white  mare,  and  with  no  spur  required  Pepper 
pursued  keenly — for  there  is  nothing  a  ridden  horse 
enjoys  more  maliciously  than  chasing  a  free  horse! 
Phil  swung  Pepper  against  the  slope,  to  cut  in  ahead ; 
Chet,  behind,  took  the  other  slope.  All  raced  furi- 
ously through  the  brush. 

"  Hi — turn  'em !  Stop  'em !  "  yelled  Phil,  seeing  a 
man  sitting  upon  a  horse,  on  the  trail  before  and  be- 
low. But  the  man  made  no  movement,  save  to  edge 
aside  as  if  to  give  passage.  However,  the  sight  of 
him  made  the  fugitives  slacken  and  hesitate  for  a 
moment,  guiltily;  and  Phil,  dashing  by  them,  waved 
his  arms  and  turned  them.  The  old  white  mare  went 
trotting  back  down  the  draw,  and  the  other  horses 
tamely  trotted  in  her  wake. 

Following  them,  Phil  heard  an  angry  voice  and 
found  Chet  in  sturdy  hot  dispute  with  the  stranger 
horseman. 

"  You  did !  You  did  it  on  purpose !  "  was  accusing 
Chet.  "  We  might  have  been  chasing  those  hawsses 
yet." 

"  Now,  sonny,  hold  your  temper,"'  retorted  the 
man,  coolly.  There  was  a  cynical,  amused  smile  on 
his  face.  "  How'd  I  know  you  wasn't  jest  runnin' 
bosses  for  exercise.  I  make  it  a  p'int  never  to  inter- 
fere with  no  man's  actions.  You've  got  your  bosses. 
So  shut  up  and  foller  'em  or  you're  liable  to  have 
more  trouble." 


142 


BAR   B    BOYS 


He  continued  to  smile. 

"  But  you  heard  me  yell  at  you,"  now  accused  Phil, 
arriving.  "  And  instead  of  helping  any  you  drew  one 
side!" 

"  If  I  did  then  I  must  have  thought  you  wanted  me 
out  o'  the  way,"  drawled  the  stranger,  still  smiling. 
"I'm  deaf  in  one  ear,  sometimes." 

He  glanced  at  Phil  shiftily,  aslant,  and  spat  tobacco 
juice,  smiling  with  a  sneer  and  an  amused  contempt. 
He  wore  ordinary  store  clothing  and  looked  like  any 
transient — perhaps  a  horse-buyer. 

"  I  believe  you'd  have  been  glad  if  those  horses  had 
got  away,"  declared  Chet,  who  when  his  blood  was 
up  feared  to  say  or  do  nothing.  "  Where'd  you  find 
that  horse  you're  on?" 

"  Don't  get  pussonal,  sonny,"  advised  the  man,  his 
smile  more  sneering.  "  I  found  him  easier  than  you'll 
find  yours  you  were  chasing  if  you  don't  take  up  their 
trail  purty  sudden." 

"  Oh,  I  know  you ! "  suddenly  exclaimed  Phil,  who 
had  been  studying  the  man's  profile.  "  I  met  you  in 
that  arroyo " 

"  Here  comes  Buster,"  said  Chet.     "  He'll " 

"  You  know  nothin' ! "  snapped  the  man ;  and  he 
had  wheeled,  had  plunged  spurs  into  his  mount,  and 
was  galloping  up  the  draw. 

"  Halt ! "  screamed  Chet. 

"Halt!"  exclaimed  Phil,  excitedly. 

But  their  combined  cries  were  disregarded,  and  the 
man,  at  his  headlong  pace,  disappeared. 

"What's  the  matter?     Who's  yore  friend?"  de- 


MAN    WITH    THE   FROZEN    SMILE      143 

manded  Buster.  "  An'  why  didn't  yu  trail  close  after 
them  hawsses?  They'd  have  cut  over  an'  gone  plumb 
back  to  the  Bar  B  if  I  hadn't  come  in  on  'em !  " 

"That's  one  of  the  rustlers!  He's  the  man  with 
the  frozen  smile  I  saw  in  the  arroyo,"  informed  Phil. 

"  He  is ! "  And  Buster  impulsively  started  his  horse 
with  a  jump;  bending  forward,  at  a  tearing  run  he, 
too,  sped  away  up  the  draw  and  in  a  cloud  of  dust 
turned  a  curve  just  beyond.  Presently  he  came  lop- 
ing back. 

"  Out  o'  sight,"  he  said.  "  Must  have  taken  to  the 
hills,  an'  we  can't  corral  him,  now.  What'd  he  do  to 
yu?" 

The  boys  explained,  as  Buster  set  a  rapid  gait  out 
of  the  draw  to  rejoin  the  line  of  march. 

"  Shore  he  was  lettin'  those  hawsses  by,"  agreed 
Buster.  "  More  hawsses  runnin'  wild  in  the  brush, 
better  for  him.     What  was  he  ridin'  himself?" 

"  A  blue  hawss,  with  a  diamond  on  the  left  shoulder 
and  a  bar  of  vent  under  it." 

"No  ear  marks?" 

"Uh,  uh.    Was  there,  Phil?" 

"  Nope,"  supported   Phil. 

"  Sounds  like  one  o'  Jordan's  hawsses,"  mused 
Buster.  "  He's  got  a  blue  and  that's  his  brand ;  dia- 
mond on  the  left  shoulder." 

"  When  I  asked  him  where  he  found  that  hawss 
and  Phil  recognized  him,  he  made  off  like  lightning," 
asserted  Chet.     "  Didn't  he,  Phil?  " 

"  He  sure  did,"  supported  Phil,  in  approved  West- 
ern parlance. 


144  BAR    B    BOYS 

"  Mebbe  he  bought  that  hawss,  then ;  and  mebbe  he 
didn't,'*  reasoned  Buster.  "That  bar  o'  vent  don't 
count,  if  he's  a  rustler." 

The  word  that  Chet  and  Phil  had  encountered  the 
man  with  the  frozen  smile  passed  from  rear  to  van 
of  the  Bar  B  cavalcade,  and  excited  no  little  quiet 
comment.  On  the  whole  the  wish  was  that  the  rus- 
tlers would  stay  in  the  district  long  enough  to  be 
caught  and  disposed  of.  As  for  the  man  with  the 
frozen  smile — what  was  he  doing  up  in  that  draw, 
anyway,  unless  trying  to  keep  out  of  sight  of  travel? 
The  riders  discussed  it. 

The  march  continued,  Buster  and  Chet  and  Phil 
resuming  the  rear — the  two  boys  with  the  air  of  hav- 
ing earned  their  posts.  Noon  passed,  and  there  were 
no  symptoms  of  a  halt.  In  the  midst  of  the  hot  brush 
and  gravelly  mesas  the  wagon  trail  branched;  the 
party  took  the  left-hand  fork. 

'*That  other  road  goes  in  to  Carbine,"  informed 
Chet.    "  Where  we  get  our  mail." 

"Oh,  thunder!"  exclaimed  Phil,  disappointed. 
"  Maybe  there's  a  letter  or  something  for  me.  How 
far?" 

"  Five  miles.  But  we  can  cut  over  from  the  camp. 
Ford'll  go  over  to-night,  I  know,  for  his  chaps.  He'll 
get  all  the  mail,  or  we  can." 

"  How  big  a  town  is  Carbine  ?  "  asked  Phil,  curi- 
ously. 

"  A  store  and  five  or  six  houses  and  a  bunk-house." 

"How  many  people?" 

"  Forty-four." 


MAN   WITH    THE   FROZEN    SMILE      145 

"  Forty-five,"  corrected  Buster.  "  School  teacher*s 
quit  Jordan's  ranch  an*  moved  into  town,  now." 

Phil's  inclination  was  to  laugh  at  Buster's  applica- 
tion of  the  word  "  town  " — but  he  didn't  laugh. 

"Last  time  I  was  in  I  see  one  o*  those  auty-mo- 
biles,"  continued  Buster,  gravely.  "  It  had  come  clean 
from  Denver,  an'  was  goin'  on  over  into  Utah. 
Carryin'  some  men  lookin'  for  oil.  She  was  red. 
Fust  one  I  ever  see.  S'pose  yu've  seen  lots  of  'em." 
he  added,  to  Phil,  deferentially.  "An'  'lectric  street 
cars,  too ! " 

"  Well,  rather,"  said  Phil.  "  I  ride  in  them  every 
day." 

"Yep.  I  understand  all  kinds  o'  things  without 
head  or  tail  are  running  locoed  so  thick  in  cities  that 
people  get  killed  right  along,"  alleged  Buster.  "  I 
shore  am  scared  o'  them.  Forkin'  plain  hawsses  out 
here  where  I  got  plenty  room  to  mill  'round  is  good 
enough  for  me." 

"  Buster  has  never  seen  a  steam  engine,  yet ;  have 
you,  Buster  ?  "  declared  Chet. 

"  Never  have,"  admitted  Buster  calmly. 

"Never  seen  a  railroad  train?"  inquired  Phil, 
amazed. 

"No,  sir;  heard  an  engine  whistle  onct;  sounded 
like  a  wolf  howlin'.  Some  day  after  I  get  paid  off 
I'm  goin'  over  to  the  Junction,  though,  where  the 
trains  come  in,  an'  mebbe  get  on  one  an'  go  down  to 
Denver.  But  I  reckon  I  wouldn't  like  it.  I  ain't 
never  been  out  o'  the  hills  an'  I'm  used  to  plenty  o' 
room.    Carbine  sort  o'  crowds  me;  an'  last  time  I  was 


146 


BAR   B    BOYS 


up  to  Oro — there's  three  hundred  people  up  there! — ■ 
to  a  bustin'  contest,  I  thought  I'd  sure  smother  'fore 
I  got  out." 

"  I've  been  to  Denver  with  cattle ;  that's  a  big  city," 
said  Chet.  "And  I've  been  to  the  stock  show  there 
and  dad  and  I  went  to  a  theater.  I  never  was  in  an 
automobile,  though." 

"Ford  Dexter,  he's  from  Boston,"  pursued  Bus- 
ter. "He  an'  me  ride  together,  an'  I've  found  out 
a  lot  about  city  life  from  him.  He  says  there's 
nothin'  in  it — an'  he's  tried  it.  But  I'm  sure  goin'  to 
have  a  ride  on  a  steam  train  'fore  I  cash  in.  I'm 
goin'  to  see  one,  anyhow." 

"There's  the  roundup  camp!  I  see  the  wagon!" 
cried  Chet.  "  And  Pete's  come.  He's  the  best 
roundup  cook  we  ever  had.  But  he's  cross,  so  you 
want  to  watch  out.  His  bread's  fine,  though!  He's 
got  his  fire  going,  already." 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE     ROUNDUP     CAMP 

Before  and  at  one  side  could  be  seen  amidst  the 
sage  the  tarpaulin  top  of  a  wagon,  and  near  the 
wagon  curled  into  the  air  a  bluish  spiral  of  smoke. 
A  shrill  whoop  broke  from  the  riders,  and  a  figure 
near  the  fire  waved  his  broad  hat.  The  horse-herd 
was  turned  in,  and  went  trotting  across  past  the 
wagon ;  the  riders  stopped  beside  it.  "  Hello's  "  were 
exchanged.  Then  Haney  and  Hombre  galloped  on; 
the  others  dismountea. 

"  We'll  hold  the  ropes,"  volunteered  Chet.  "  Come 
on,  Phil.     Make  a  corral." 

Two  ropes  were  fastened  to  a  convenient  bunch 
of  greasewood  which  stood  fully  six  feet,  and  stretch- 
ing the  ropes  at  a  wide  angle  the  boys  each  held  an 
end.  Back  came  the  horse-herd;  and  on  their  flanks 
Haney  and  Hombre,  skillfully  directing  them  be- 
tween, and  into  the  angle. 

*'  Shake  the  rope  and  they  won't  run  against  it," 
called  Chet,  across. 

Phil  shook,  the  leading  horses  recoiled  and  turned 
as  if  it  were  a  snake.  A  very  slight  barrier  was  this 
rope — but  to  the  horses  it  was  a  thing  which  could 
burn  and  throw  and  choke,  and  they  zealously  avoided 
it. 

From  the  outside  the  loops  of  Mr.  Simms,  Ford, 

147 


148 


BAR   B    BOYS 


Buster  and  all  darted  over  the  crowded  heads,  and  one 
by  one  the  animals  carrying  the  bedding,  etc.,  were 
pulled  forth  and  led  away  to  be  unpacked.  Red 
Bird,  with  Chet's  and  Phil's  bed  upon  him,  was  in- 
cluded, much  to  Phil's  relief,  who  saw  himself  and 
Chet  helplessly  anchored. 

The  beds  were  dumped  upon  the  sage,  haphazard. 

"  All  right,"  called  Mr.  Simms,  unsaddling.  "  You 
can  drop  the  ropes,  boys." 

The  horses,  released,  slowly  straggled,  and  the 
pack  animals,  with  shake  and  snort,  stalking  a  few 
paces  into  the  sage,  each  proceeded  to  roll.  Hombre, 
who  had  hastily  changed  mounts,  came  riding,  and 
starting  the  herd  off,  drove  them  at  a  trot. 

"  There  goes  your  hawss,  Smith-Jones,"  an- 
nounced Haney. 

To  his  chagrin  and  surprise  Phil,  suddenly  recalled 
to  business,  beheld  Pepper  with  saddle  on,  and  drag- 
ging his  lines  (his  nose  pointed  to  one  side  that  he 
might  not  step  upon  them),  calmly  trotting  away,  with 
two  or  three  unsaddled  brothers,  after  the  herd! 

"Aw,  Phil!"  derided  Chet.  "You  ought  to  have 
tied  him." 

Phil  was  aghast. 

"  Catch  him,  somebody,"  he  implored.  "  Whoa ! 
whoa!" 

In  his  chaps  he  clumsily  legged  after. 

"  Run  him  daown,  Smith-Jones,"  remarked  Haney. 
"  Then  next  time  you'll  tie  your  hawss  when  the 
herd's  around.  Nobody's  got  time  to  help  yuh. 
Everybody's  tihud  and  hongry." 


THE    ROUNDUP    CAMP  149 

But  Hombre,  hearing  the  laughter  and  Phil's 
shouts,  looking  back,  saw.  He  waited ;  as  Pepper 
passed  him,  his  rope  shot  out.  Phil,  shambling  joy- 
ously on,  seized  the  bridle  lines. 

"  Much  obliged,"  he  said,  grateful. 

Hombre  flashed  his  white  teeth  in  his  sunny  grin, 
and  continued  after  his  charges. 

Phil  led  Pepper  back,  and  unsaddled.  And  thence- 
forth he  was  always  careful,  when  the  herd  was  in 
sight,  to  tie  his  saddle  animal  loosely  to  a  clump  of 
brush,  as  did  the  others. 

"Let's  pick  out  our  bedding-places,  first  thing," 
proposed  Chet.  "  Where  it's  smooth  and  flat ;  but 
you  don't  want  to  get  in  Pete's  way,  or  where  a  night- 
hawk'll  step  on  you." 

The  boys  trudged  hither  and  thither  in  the  brush, 
and  finally  decided  upon  an  open  space,  comparatively 
open  and  level.  Phil  was  for  a  snug  hollow  where 
grass  had  matted,  but  Chet  opposed. 

"  Naw,"  he  said.  "  You  can  sleep  there,  if  you 
want  to,  but  I  sha'n't.  You'll  be  as  cold  as  the  dick- 
ens. I'm  going  where  it's  high  and  dry.  That  hol- 
low draws  frost  and  the  grass  gets  damp  under  you, 
too." 

So  they  chose  a  bare,  hard  location  on  a  little  swell 
or  miniature  mesa,  fifty  yards  from  the  wagon;  and 
they  lugged  their  beds  to  that,  as  token  of  their  claim 
upon  it. 

The  others  of  the  party  had  been  quietly  filing  upon 
their  bedding-places,  also;  for  a  comfortable  bed  is  a 
valuable  asset  on  the  roundup. 


ISO 


BAR    B    BOYS 


The  roundup  camp  was  upon  the  banks  of  Owl 
Creek,  here  wide  and  sluggish.  Opposite  was  the 
mouth  of  Willow — a  creek,  now  dry,  issuing  out  of 
a  draw  of  the  name.  On  the  camp  side  the  sage  and 
greasewood  flat  stretched  away  and  away;  but  across 
the  creek  was  a  rougher  country  of  mesas,  their 
fronts,  intersected  by  draws  and  canons,  sweeping 
east  and  west  in  an  irregular  semicircle.  They  were 
sparsely  wooded  with  cedars  and  pifions,  and  sage 
dotted  their  gravelly,  whitish  slopes  like  currants 
thick  upon  the  surface  of  a  pudding. 

Cook  Pete  was  an  extraordinarily  long,  lank  in- 
dividual, with  a  shrewd  Irish  face,  likewise  long  and 
lank,  shaded  by  a  hat  whose  wide  flapping  brim  was 
the  most  pretentious  that  Phil  had  yet  encountered. 
The  hat  Pete  never  voluntarily  removed,  so  far  as 
Phil  co'uld  make  out,  during  the  roundup.  Pete  also 
sported  an  apron  of  white  oil-cloth,  which  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  was  clean  and  whole,  but  which  day  by 
day  waxed  worse  and  worse,  labor  worn,  until  at 
the  close  it  was  only  a  rag. 

Pete  had  dug  a  trench  eighteen  inches  deep,  and 
four  feet  long  by  three  wide,  and  in  this  had  made  a 
fire.  A  huge  coffee  pot  was  already  steaming  in  a 
hot  niche,  and  here  and  there  were  other  vessels  sit- 
ting— several  of  them  being  iron  kettles  with  heavy 
iron  covers,  flat  and  rimmed. 

The  Bar  B  party,  first  to  arrive  on  the  grounds, 
loafed  about,  lying  and  sitting,  and  watched  the  busy 
Pete,  who  was  mixing  dough  on  a  board  at  the  back 
of  the  mess  wagon. 


THE    ROUNDUP    CAMP  151 

"  Guess  you  fellows  are  pretty  hungry,"  volun- 
teered Pete.     "  Didn't  have  no  dinner,  did  you  ?  " 

The  men  hesitated. 

"  Swallowed  a  fly  that  got  bogged  down  in  my 
throat/'  remarked  Haney.  "  But  reckon  I  could  eat 
somethin'   moh." 

"  I'll  hustle  up  an'  give  you  supper  early,  then," 
said  Pete.  "  I'll  put  this  batch  o'  bread  to  bakin'  an' 
have  two  or  three  messes  so  if  any  of  the  other  out- 
fits arrive  late,  there'll  be  plenty  left." 

"No  hurry,  Pete." 

"  Take  your  time,  Pete." 

**  Sure ;  we  can  wait." 

"  Got  plenty  wood  ?  " 

"  Here — I'll  fetch  some  water.  You've  enough  to 
do." 

There  were  polite  expostulations  from  all.  Bus- 
ter plucked  the  ax  from  the  log  where  it  was  sticking 
and  chopped  lustily.  Haney  seized  a  couple  of  pails 
and  tramped  down  to  the  creek.  As  King  of  the  Kow 
Kamp  Mr.  Pete  accepted  all  attentions,  and  continued 
his  dough  mixing. 

Having  finished,  he  moulded  the  dough  into  bis- 
cuits, and  with  the  biscuits  lined  the  bottom  of  one  of 
the  iron  kettles.  He  took  a  shovelful  of  coals  from 
his  trench,  deposited  them  at  one  side,  set  the  kettle 
thereon,  picked  up  the  cover  with  a  hook  and  care- 
fully lowered  it  into  place,  and  upon  the  cover  poured 
another  shovelful  of  coals,  which  were  retained  by 
the  rim. 

Then  he  left  the  bread  to  its  baking ;  and  Phil,  who 


BAR    B    BOYS 

had  been  observing  the  proceedings  with  much  inter- 
est  

"  Know  what  that  is,  boy?"  asked  Mr.  Simms,  in- 
terrupting his  thoughts. 

Phil  shook  his  head. 

"That's  a  Dutch  oven.'* 

Pete  glanced,  astonished. 

"  I've  heard  tell  there  was  to  be  a  tenderfoot  at 
the  roundup,"  he  said.  "  Reckon  this  is  him,  then, 
if  he  don't  know  a  Dutch  oven ! " 

"When  he's  eaten  a  few  batches  out  of  them  he'll 
be  trying  to  buy  one  of  you,  Pete,  to  take  back  home 
with  him,"  asserted  Ford,  flatteringly. 

Pete  grunted  acknowledgment,  and  lifting  the 
the  cover  of  the  Dutch  oven  at  work  upon  the  bread, 
peeped  within. 

"  Let's  bed  down  before  it's  dark,"  proposed  Chet, 
abruptly.  And  followed  by  Phil,  he  returned  to  their 
bundles  of  bedding. 

The  tarpaulins  were  spread  out.  The  blankets  and 
quilts  were  placed  upon,  full  length,  and  then  doubled 
back  to  the  head  so  that  they  formed  a  pocket,  bed 
size,  folded  at  the  foot  ("Make  up  with  your  feet  to 
the  wind,"  instructed  Chet) ;  the  free  half  of  the  can- 
vas was  brought  back  over  the  whole,  and  the  edges 
tucked  in. 

"  There !  "  appraised  Chet,  with  professional  satis- 
faction. "  Bet  we  sleep  warm.  Want  to  have  just 
as  much  under  you  as  over  you.  Can't  make  a  bed 
up  good  in  the  dark." 

When  they  approached  the   wagon   again   Haney 


THE    ROUNDUP   CAMP  153 

was  drawing  out  a  piece  of  new  rope  from  a  bale 
therein.  Spanning  off  what  he  wanted,  he  cut  it. 
Seated,  one  of  the  other  men  was  tying  a  knot  in  a 
similar  piece. 

"  There's  your  chance  to  get  a  rope,"  prompted 
Chet.     "Your  old  thing's  no  good." 

"  Yes,  Smith-Jones.  Never  can  make  me  eat  raw 
meat,  'less  you  have  a  new  rope,"  alleged  Haney,  with 
his  customary  readiness. 

"  Except  cat,"  put  in  Ford,  quietly. 

"  Draw  the  line  on  cat,"  answered  Haney.  "  How 
long  you  want  it,  Smith-Jones?  My  size  is  thirty- 
five  feet.  Reckon  mebbe  you  throw  forty-five  or 
ftfty." 

^* Thirty-five's  enough — isn't  it?"  appealed  Phil, 
uncertain. 

"  Regulation  foh  boy  an'  man,"  assured  Haney. 
"  Here  you  are.  Tie  youah  hondo  an'  frazzle  youah 
end  an'  go  out  an'  ketch  me  a  steer.     I'm  hongry." 

Supervised  by  Ford  and  Chet,  Phil  tied  his  hondo 
knot  for  the  noose  to  run  through,  and  tasseled  the 
other  end — stopping  it  with  twine  to  hold  it  from 
further  unraveling. 

"  Somebody  give  him  a  hawggin'  string,  now,  an* 
he'll  be  fixed,"  remarked  Haney,  seating  himself  to 
complete  his  own  rope. 

"  You  can  untwist  your  old  rope  for  your  hogging 
string,"  suggested  Chet. 

"What's  a  hogging  string?" 

"It's  to  tie  a  cow's  feet  together  when  you've 
thrown  her.     You  know,"  informed  Chet,  with  a  su- 


154 


BAR    B 


perior  air.  "Reg'lar  cotton  clothesline  's  the  best, 
though." 

"  Now  stretch  it  from  the  wagon  to  take  the  kinks 
out/'  instructed  Ford. 

Which  Phil  proceeded  to  do. 

Into  the  grounds  entered  a  second  outfit — The 
Lazy  J  (^-h),  three  men  (Henry,  Dick  and  a  com- 
panion), and  twenty  horses.  And  by  the  time  the  sun 
was  within  a  half  hour  of  the  western  mesa,  the  other 
outfits  expected  had  arrived:  the  Open  A  (A)^  the 
Reverse  R  (9\),  the  Flying  U  (V"),  the  Triangle 
Cross  ( A  +),  one  man  from  each,  with  his  string. 
The  Three  I  (JQ^)  and  The  Boot  ([^)  outfits 
would  be  added  later,  when  the  roundup  had  ascended 
into  their  country. 

The  men  lounged  about,  in  the  shade  of  the  wagon 
or  amidst  the  brush,  whittling,  chaffing,  exchanging 
news  and  views — and  at  the  same  time  observant  of 
Pete,  so  busy  with  fire  and  cofifee-can  and  Dutch  oven. 
"  Come  an*  get  it ! "  on  a  sudden  bade  Pete,  stri- 
dently, above  the  enticing  sizzling. 

"  Come  on,"  prompted  Chet ;  and  needing  not  to 
be  urged  further,  if  at  all,  Phil,  following  the  exam- 
ple of  the  others,  from  a  box  took  his  "reloading 
tools  "  of  steel  knife  and  fork  and  tin  spoon,  cup  and 
plate,  and  making  the  rounds  of  ovens  and  coffee-can 
helped  himself  to  everything.  In  the  slanting  beams 
of  the  low  sun  they  sat  or  squatted,  all,  and  supped, 
too  occupied  to  talk. 

Steak,  canned  corn,  canned  tomatoes,  fried  pota- 
toes, bread,  coflFee,  condensed  milk,  sorghum — ah! 


THE    ROUNDUP   CAMP  155 

"  Fall  to  it,  boys,"  encouraged  Pete,  affable  host. 
"  Plenty  more  while  the  chuck  lasts.  Any  you  fel- 
lers want  some  peaches?  I'll  open  a  couple  o'  cans 
if  you  do." 

This,  the  first  meal  of  the  roundup  camp,  he  in- 
tended should  be  a  good  one. 

"  When  we  get  started  an'  I  know  where  I'm  at, 
I'll  try  pie"  he  volunteered,  perspiring  but  satisfied. 
"  See  there's  a  lot  o'  dried  apples  come  with  the 
stuff." 

"  You'll  give  us  all  the  gout,  Pete,"  said  Ford, 
appreciatively.     And   Pete  grinned  with  pleasure. 

"I  suppose  we'd  better  choose  foreman.  Those 
hawsses'U  have  to  be  night-hawked,  or  half  of  'em 
will  go  trailing  back,"  remarked  Mr.  Simms,  the  meal 
being  finished. 

"  Who's  out  with  'em  now  ?  " 

"  Hombre." 

"  Where's  that  day  wrangler !  Thought  we  had  a 
hawss  jingler." 

"Hasn't  turned  up  yet.*' 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  Some  kid  Henry  here  found." 

"Said  he'd  come.  That's  all  I  know,"  defended 
Henry,  unruffled.  "Folks  live  at  Oro.  Wants  to  be 
a  cowboy." 

"  Have  to  put  Chet  back  at  wranglin*." 

"  No,  Chet  thinks  he's  graduated,"  smiled  Mr. 
Simms,  grimly. 

"  Might  keep  Hombre  at  it." 

"  He  might  do  it  if  we  paid  him  enough.    But  he's 


156  BAR    B    BOYS 

no  thirty  dollar  jingler.     He's  too  good  a  roper  to 
be  put  herding  cavvy  on  the  roundup/' 

"  Well,  wait  a  day.     That  kid'll  likely  turn  up." 

"Of  course  the  fust  spell  at  night-hawkin'  falls  to 
the  tenderfoot."  The  speaker  uttered  this  casually, 
but  everybody  glanced  slyly  at  Phil. 

"  You  bet,"  said  Pete. 

"jWell,  boys;  who's  to  be  boss?"  reminded  Mr. 
Simms. 

"  You  and  I'll  go  into  town  with  Ford,"  proposed 
Chet  to  Phil,  beside  him. 

"We  haven't  any  horses.     Shall  we  walk?" 

"  Walk  ?  Oh,  gee !  All  that  ways — four  miles  ? 
Nobody  walks  in  this  country.  We'll  catch  some 
horses  when  Hombre  brings  in  the  herd.  The  night- 
hawks  have  to  get  theirs." 

"What's  night-hawk,  anyway?" 

"  He's  the  man  who  stays  out  at  night,  herding. 
We  always  have  to  herd  the  horses  at  night,  for  a 
while,  until  they're  used  to  keeping  together.  Some 
always  try  to  sneak  back  to  the  home  range,  at  first. 
And  we  have  to  night-herd  the  cattle,  too,  when  there 
isn't  rim-rock  to  hold  'em,  or  they're  wild." 

"Will  I  have  to?"  asked  Phil. 

"  Sure.  We  all  take  turns.  The  foreman  says 
who.    Maybe  he'll  put  you  and  me  out  together." 

"Who  is  foreman?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I'm  going  to  vote  for  Old  Jess." 

"  Your  turn,  Chet,"  prompted  one  of  the  men, 
good-naturedly.     "  Who's  yore  boss  ?  " 

"Jess!" 


THE   ROUNDUP    CAMP  157 

"  That  settles  it.  Jess  is  elected.  He  can't  put  any 
of  us  night-herdin*,  because  we  all  voted  for  him ! " 

"Except  Phil.  He  didn't  have  a  chance,"  an- 
nounced Chet. 

"  Yes ;  'cept  yore  friend,  there.  He'll  have  to  do 
all  the  night-hawkin'  for  the  camp." 

But  Old  Jess  (whose  appointment  as  boss  seemed 
to  be  satisfactory)  disposed  otherwise. 

"I'll  take  the  job,  to-night,  boys,  till  one;  and 
Dick  can  spell  me  then.  We'll  let  the  tenderfoot  have 
a  good  sleep,  to  start  on." 

"  Hombre's  bringin'  the  hawsses.  Guess  he  wants 
supper,"  informed  Pete. 

The  rope  corral  was  stretched  again.  From  the 
herd  Old  Jess  and  Dick  and  Ford  picked  out  horses; 
Chet  roped  Ute,  and  as  Phil  was  holding  an  end  of 
the  corral,  Dick  roped  out  Gray  Jack  for  him. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

PHIL  UPHOLDS  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  BAR  B 

Nobody  else  was  disposed  to  go  into  town ;  through 
the  soft  twiHght  Ford  and  Chet  and  Phil  rode  away 
up  the  wagon  trail,  to  get  Ford's  chaps  (if  the  chaps 
had  arrived)  and  Phil's  word  from  home  (if  it  had 
arrived)  and  whatever  mail  might  belong  to  the 
camp. 

Chap-accoutered,  jingling  into  town  with  Chet,  also 
chap-accoutered,  Phil  felt  very  much  the  cowboy.  All 
three  dismounted  at  the  rail  before  the  general  store, 
and  loosely  tying  their  horses  beside  of  others  stand- 
ing there,  entered — Phil  striving,  under  the  open 
stare  of  three  or  four  men  and  boys  at  the  doorway, 
to  walk  with  bowed  knees  and  toes  in  as  if  to  the 
range-saddle  born. 

"Yore  chaps  are  here,  Ford,"  greeted  a  clerk. 
"  Came  last  night." 

With  Phil  looking  on  anxiously,  Chet  was  receiv- 
ing the  mail.     ' 

"  This  telegram  must  be  for  your  friend,  I  reckon," 
vouchsafed  the  postmaster  and  storekeeper,  handing 
it  out.  "  They  sent  it  over  from  the  Junction  by 
the  stage  two  days  ago,  but  I  knew  you'd  all  be  down 
at  the  roundup." 

"  Oh,  pshaw ! "  said  Phil,  taking  it  eagerly.  "  I 
wish  I'd  known." 

i$8 


THE   HONOR   OF    BAR    B  139 

His  tone  of  chagrin  and  astonishment  over  this 
naive  explanation  drew  a  snigger  from  the  onlookers 
loafing  at  the  threshold  and  within.  He  did  not 
notice,  but  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  ran  rapid  eye 
over  the  contents. 

His  dubious  mien  changed.  Waving  the  paper  he 
executed  a  brief  v^ar-dance. 

"  Hurrah !  "  he  cried.  "  It's  all  right.  I  can  stay. 
They  say:  (and  he  read)  *  Stay  there  if  you  prefer. 
We  are  willing.  Will  write.'  Isn't  that  swell !  Now 
I'll  have  my  baggage  sent  back  to  the  Junction." 

And  seizing  Chet  he  waltzed  him  about  the  store. 

"  It's  shore  fine,"  declared  Chet,  broadly,  and  grin- 
ning. His  reply  was  genuine,  but  Phil's  exuberance 
seemed  to  grate  upon  some  of  the  hobbledehoys  and 
ranch  boys  standing  by. 

"It  shore  is,"  they  mocked. 

"  His  mammy  says  he  can  stay." 

"Ain't  that  fine?" 

"  Goin'  to  have  a  reel  Chicago  dude  all  summer, 
Joe." 

But  Phil  was  too  enthusiastic  to  be  annoyed  by 
such  by-play.  "  Now  I  want  some  boots,"  he  an- 
nounced. "  Sevens,  please.  And  I  need  a  couple  of 
bandannas,  too;  and  a  pair  of  heavy  gloves.  And  a 
flannel  shirt.  And  some  socks  and  a  hat,  and  other 
stuff.     Got  any  spurs  ?  " 

Glad  enough  to  replace  the  things  of  Chet's  that 
he  was  using,  assisted  by  that  individual  and  at- 
tended by  the  derisive,  sniggering  comments  of  the 
other  onlookers,  Phil  made  his  purchases.    He  paused 


i6o  BAR   B    BOYS 

to  admire  Ford's  new  chaps,  and  then  leaving  Ford 
and  Chet  inside,  talking  with  the  clerks,  he  went  out 
to  tie  his  outfit  (as  much  as  he  was  not  wearing)  to- 
his  saddle. 

His  tormentors  followed  him  with  their  persistent 
attentions. 

"  Say,  Chicago  dude !  Lemme  wear  them  new 
boots,  won't  yuh  ?  "  called  one. 

"  Why  ? "  asked  Phil,  waxing  restive  under  the 
nagging. 

"  Want  to  be  reg'lar  cow-puncher — wow !  " 

"  You  can  wear  my  boots  if  you'll  let  me  wear  that 
face.  I  want  to  join  a  side  show,"  retorted  Phil.  "  Or 
if  you  need  them  bad,  you  can  have  my  old  shoes  that 
I  threw  away." 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter;  but  the  chief  tor- 
mentor doggedly  returned  to  the  attack. 

"  Say,  Chicago  dude — does  yore  mammy  reely  say 
yuh  can  stay  a  while  ?  " 

Phil  did  not  answer.     He  tied  on  his  packages. 

"Ain't  yuh  'fraid  you're  overloadin'  that  hawss?" 

Phil  did  not  answer.  Having  unfastened  Gray 
Jack's  lines  from  the  rail  he  proceeded  to  mount. 

"  Look  out !  He'll  buck !  "  cried  his  tormentors,  in 
simulated  alarm.  "He  ain't  gentled  to  Chicago 
dudes." 

"  Kin  you  ride  at  a  trot,  mister  ?  "  demanded  the 
chief  of  them.  "  Aw,  watch  him — he's  puUin'  leather 
sittin'  still." 

Little  pieces  of  dirt,  and  pebbles  and  chips  began 
to  fly  in  Phil's  direction,  but  under  the  irritation  he 


THE    HONOR   OF    BAR    B  i6i 

sat  without  responding,  now  and  then  checking  Gray 
Jack,  whom  the  missiles  fretted. 

Ford  and  Chet  emerged. 

"  Say,  Ford ;  lemme  wear  them  new  chaps  ? " 
queried  one  of  the  galaxy. 

"  Yes,  if  you  can  take  them  off  of  me,"  returned 
Ford,  promptly.  His  offer  was  not  accepted  and  he 
and  Chet  and  Phil  rode  away. 

"  Shooting  it  into  you?"  asked  Chet. 

"  Yes,"  said  Phil.  He  had  been  growing  angrier 
and  angrier. 

"  Hey,  Chicago  dude !  You're  afraid  to  come 
back,"  sounded  the  challenge  behind — as  if  after  due 
deliberation. 

It  seemed  to  Phil  that  this  was  just  what  he  had 
been  waiting  for.  Without  one  instant's  hesitation 
he  wheeled  Gray  Jack  and  went  galloping  back  the 
few  rods  to  the  rail.  He  dismounted,  tied  his  horse, 
and  walked  straight  to  the  group  at  the  store  door- 
way, who  were  receiving  his  action  in  sheepish  silence. 

"  Here  I  am.     What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  You  dared  him.  Buck.     Now  talk  up  to  him." 

"You  told  him  to  come  back.  What  you  goin' 
to  do  about  it?" 

"  He's  called  yore  bluff." 

Thus  admonishing,  the  group  pushed  to  the  fore 
a  stripling  ranch  lad,  who  with  an  insolent  swagger 
grinned  in  Phil's  indignant  face.  He  extended  a 
bottle. 

"  You  forgot  to  take  along  this  soothin'  syrup  yore 
mammy  sent  yuh,"  he  said. 


1 62 


BAR   B   BOYS 


"Chuck!"  Phirs  fist  flew  out  and  over  went 
Smarty.  Furious  beyond  any  calculation  as  to  odds 
of  strength  or  numbers  Phil  piled  on  top.  There  was 
a  vigorous  struggle,  as  the  boys  rolled  and  twisted 
over  the  dusty  ground. 

"  Give  'em  room,"  exhorted  voices,  as  the  crowd, 
gathered  about  the  twain,  jostled  and  opened  and 
closed  again. 

"  Keep  off,  you  other  fellows !  Let  'em  have  it 
out.    Your  man  began  it,"  warned  Ford. 

Chet,  half-jubilant,  half-fearful,  his  heart  with  Phil 
and  his  fingers  itching  to  take  part  in  the  melee, 
beside  Ford  shoved  to  the  front  and  peered  excitedly. 
The  horses  at  the  rail  pricked  their  ears. 

The  two  figures,  at  close  grips  there  upon  the 
ground,  writhed  and  struggled  and  panted  and 
grunted.  The  ranch  boy  was  the  stouter,  but  Phil 
was  the  quicker,  and  madder.  Up  they  rose,  grap- 
pling ;  they  locked  and  swayed  and  down  they  dropped 
together,  with  a  thump. 

"  Stay  with  him,  Phil !  "  encouraged  Ford. 

"Yuh  got  t'  do  it,"  affirmed  a  new  friend. 

"  Aw,  Buck ! "  scoffed  the  chorus. 

"  Want  any  help,  Phil?  "  queried  Chet,  breathlessly, 
ready. 

On  his  back  Buck  was  kicking  and  squirming  with 
wild  convulsive  efforts.  Twice — thrice  he  raised  him- 
self and  Phil  together  clear  of  the  ground,  from  heel 
to  head.  But  Phil,  having  secured  his  hold,  clung 
like  a  bull  dog,  with  knees  and  hands  pinioning  the 
arms,  elbow  athwart  under  the  chin,  and  body  weight- 


THE    HONOR   OF    BAR    B  163 

ing  down  the  chest.  Buck's  squirming  ceased,  and 
he  lay,  exhausted. 

"  Ready  to  quit  ?  '*  gasped  Phil,  glaring  into  the 
face  close  underneath  his  own. 

Buck  nodded. 

"  If  I  let  you  up  you'll  leave  me  alone,  after  this, 
will  you?'* 

"  Sure,"  croaked  Buck. 

"  All  right." 

Phil  sprang  clear.  His  enemy  sat  up  and  dabbled 
at  his  mouth,  exploring  his  teeth. 

"  Say,  but  he  hit  me  an  awful  belt !  "  he  averred, 
to  the  grinning  circle. 

"You  need  that  soothing  syrup  more  than  I  do, 
now,"  quoth  Phil,  bluntly,  tossing  the  bottle  at  him; 
and  taking  his  hat  from  Chet  he  walked  with  Chet 
and  Ford  to  the  horses. 

"'Rah  for  the  Chicago  dude!" 

"You're  all  right!" 

"Good  for  the  kid!" 

Such  hearty  sentiments  followed  him. 

"  Well,  son,  you  upheld  the  honor  of  the  Bar  B 
that  time,"  spoke  Ford,  as  they  again  rode  away 
through  the  golden  gloaming.    "Hurt  you  any?" 

"  Naw,"  answered  Phil,  and  honestly.  "  I  tried 
not  to  give  him  a  chance." 

"  I'm  awful  glad  somebody  took  that  Buck  down," 
said  Chet.  "  He's  too  smart.  He  shoots  it  into  every 
new  person  that  comes.  I  bet  Phil  won't  have  any 
more  trouble  there." 

"No;  he's  made  good  in  Carbine,"  agreed  Ford. 


1 64  BAR   B    BOYS 

The  fracas  and  the  new  chaps  shared  the  atten- 
tion of  the  camp,  where  the  men  were  clustered  about 
the  fire,  before  turning  in. 

"We'll  have  to  vote  Phil  a  medal,  won't  we,  for 
standing  up  to  that  smart  Aleck  gang?"  proposed 
Mr.  Simms.    "  They're  more  than  Chet  ever  tackled." 

"  Don't  fight,  myself,  Smith-Jones ;  I  always  run," 
alleged  Haney.  "But  I  do  love  a  natural  fighter; 
an'  you  suhtinly  are  a  scrapper.  Don't  you  evuh 
get  after  me !  " 

The  camp  went  to  bed.  Snugly  extended  between 
his  blankets  and  quilts  and  tarpaulin,  with  his  trou- 
sers and  coat  and  vest  under  his  head  for  a  pillow, 
and  his  new  cowboy  boots  tucked  away  to  keep  the 
frost  out  of  them,  Phil  blinked  up  at  the  myriad  stars 
blinking  down.  A  yard  from  him  Chet  was  similarly 
lying,  and  around  about  through  the  brush  were 
lying  in  same  fashion  the  men  all,  the  cook  under- 
neath his  wagon.  The  fire  fitfully  flickered;  at  a  lit- 
tle distance  the  picketed  horse  of  Dick,  whose  watch 
at  night-hawking  was  to  come  later,  stamped  and 
sighed;  farther  in  the  gloom  a  coyote  yapped.  Al- 
ready somebody  was  snoring. 

For  a  few  minutes  Phil  blinked  at  those  wondrous 
many  bright  stars  and  thought.  The  great  open  was 
now  friendly,  much  more  friendly,  it  seemed  to  him, 
than  when  on  that  first  lonely  night  he  had  faced  it  in 
the  darkling  timber.  He  was  comfortable — comfort- 
able in  body  (housed  by  his  cowboy  bed)  and  in 
mind,  which  reviewed  his  new  outfit,  his  telegram, 
and  his  victory  over  the  aggravating  "gang."     He 


THE    HONOR   OF    BAR    B  165 

was  glad  that  he  had  had  the  spirit  to  turn  back,  at 
the  challenge,  and  whether  accompanied  by  Ford  and 
Chet,  or  not,  to  assert  himself.  He  was  glad — he 
was  glad — he  hoped  that  Medicine  Eye  wouldn't  buck 
with  him — he  would  ride  Gray  Jack,  anyway,  to-mor- 
row— he — he — and  suddenly  he,  too,  was  asleep,  so 
soundly  that  he  did  not  hear  Dick  awakened  at  half- 
past  twelve  to  mount  and  to  go  trotting  away,  nor 
hear  Old  Jess  come  in. 

The  fire  ceased  its  flicker,  and  it,  also,  slumbered; 
and  over  the  peaceful  roundup  camp  the  endless  stars 
steadily  drifted  in  their  eternal  nightly  march. 


CHAPTER   XVII 


THE     BIG     CIRCLE 


Phil  awakened  to  a  shrill  yelp.  Above  him  now 
in  the  paling  expanse  of  sky  flared  only  a  single 
great  star,  like  a  rear-guard  posted  by  the  departed 
host.  Amidst  the  brush  chirped  small  bird-voices. 
The  canvas  of  the  chuck-wagon  loomed  cheerily, 
thrown  into  high  relief  by  a  blazing  fire.  The  strokes 
of  an  ax  sounded  with  staccato  sharpness,  and  the  lank 
figure  of  Pete  the  cook,  topped  by  the  tremendous 
hat,  was  outlined  in  silhouette  against  the  glow  as  he 
wielded  the  tool.  Over  the  sage  hung  a  mist,  and 
through  it  spectral  forms  were  seen  sitting  and  ris- 
ing, half-clothed,  as  if  a  resurrection  was  occurring. 

"  Whoop-ee !  Everybody  up !  "  came  a  yelp  again, 
from  the  fire,  where  one  or  two  other  figures  had 
joined  the  cook^s. 

Phil  hastily  threw  off  his  covers  and  crawled  out. 
Chet  was  doing  the  same.  Frost  had  gathered  upon 
the  tarpaulin  and  upon  the  edges  of  the  blankets  and 
quilts.  Phil  shivered  as  he  pulled  on  his  trousers, 
and  yawned  again,  until  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
stiff  face  was  cracking.  Chet  also  yawned,  audibly. 
He  stood ;  Phil  stood ;  they  donned  coats  and  hats,  and 
with  a  mutual  grunt  of  greeting  stumbled  through 
the  brush  to  the  fire,  and  added  themselves  to  the 

i66 


THE   BIG   CIRCLE  167 

group  already  (careful  not  to  impede  the  cook)  warm- 
ing their  backs. 

Throughout  the  sage  the  resurrection  continued. 
There  was  joking,  yawning  and  pulHng  on  of  gar- 
ments. The  east,  changing  from  gold  to  pink,  deep- 
ened rapidly,  and  the  brush  and  the  scattered  beds 
were  plain.  Ravens  croaked  hoarsely  as  they  flopped 
across  the  brigiitening  sky,  outward-bound  upon  their 
day's  foraging.  The  boys  seized  opportunity  and  the 
tin  basin  and  towel  and  soap,  and  descended  to  the 
creek  to  wash.  They  returned  to  find  the  company  all 
assembled  and  the  soap  in  demand. 

"  Come  an'  get  it,"  bade  Pete,  who  had  been  lifting 
the  covers  from  the  Dutch  ovens,  here  and  there  about 
the  fire,  and  investigating. 

Rattle  of  tin,  as  prompt  hands  extracted  from  the 
mess-box  the  eating  utensils;  a  circuit  by  everyone 
from  pot  to  pot,  sticking,  spooning,  pouring;  and 
presently  a  squatting  and  a  sitting  as  everybody  pro- 
ceeded to  breakfast.  While  they  were  eating  the  sun 
appeared  over  the  mesa  to  the  east,  and  comfortably 
warmed  them. 

"  Cook  won't  bless  you,  boy,  if  you  give  him  a 
messy  plate  like  that,"  observed  Mr.  Simms,  as  Phil, 
arising  with  a  sigh  of  fullness,  passed  him  by,  to 
deposit  his  dishes  with  the  others. 

Phil  paused,  alarmed.  It  was  impossible  for  him 
to  swallow  another  mouthful.  His  plate  was  "  messy," 
for  he  had  helped  himself  to  more  stuff  than  he  could 
get  away  with.  He  noted  other  plates.  Haney  was 
engaged  in  polishing  his  with  a  piece  of  bread;  so 


i68 


BAR   B    BOYS 


was  a  stranger  cowboy.  So  was  Chet.  It  was  evi- 
dently the  custom,  and  for  a  reason.  The  cook  was 
king.  He  had  plenty  to  do  without  having  complica- 
tions in  his  dish-washing.  Phil  sat  down,  and  cleaned 
his  plate — eating  the  scraps  and  polishing  with  a  bit 
of  bread,  like  the  others.  Thereafter  he  was  careful 
not  to  help  himself  beyond  his  utmost  ability. 

"  Cavvy's  comin',"  announced  Old  Jess,  peering 
eastward  and  shading  his  eyes.  "That  Mexican's 
right  on  time." 

"Yes,  Hombre's  a  good  wrangler,"  asserted  Mr. 
Simms.     "  He  went  out  himself  and  relieved  Dick." 

"  Have  to  keep  him  at  it  to-day,  if  that  kid  don't 
arrive,"  muttered  Old  Jess.  "  Then  we'll  pick  up 
somebody  else.  If  Henry's  kid  doesn't  show  'round 
by  night,  he  needn't  show  'round  at  all." 

"  Give  Phil  the  job,"  remarked  the  cattleman. 

"  Humph ! "  said  Old  Jess — which  might  have  indi- 
cated anything. 

Going  to  his  horse,  which  was  standing  saddled 
where  he  had  left  it  upon  coming  in,  and  which  was 
pricking  its  ears  at  the  tinted  dust  rising  over  the 
sage  eastward,  Dick  rode  out  to  meet  the  incoming 
herd.  The  men  lazily  watched  and  waited,  and  di- 
gested. 

"  Guess  I'd  better  heat  this  coffee  up.  That  Mexi- 
can'll  be  good  an'  ready  for  some.  It's  sharp  this 
mawnin',"  murmured  Pete,  moving  the  big  pot  to  the 
coals  again.     "  He  was  up  'fore  I  was." 

The  herd  was  near — galloping,  trotting,  biting  and 
kicking,   the  white   mare   and  her  colt   in  the  lead, 


THE   BIG   CIRCLE  169 

streaming  on  athwart  the  brush.  The  men  about  the 
fire  stood,  stretched,  and  scattering  to  their  saddles, 
took  their  ropes.  Phil  imitated.  Two  of  the  men 
held  the  rope  corral,  and  Hombre  and  Dick  cleverly 
turned  the  herd  in.  The  corral  was  jammed  with 
horses — squealing  and  nipping  and  shoving  from  the 
outside  for  the  inside.  The  men,  ropes  ready,  cir- 
cuited, alert  to  throw. 

Phil  was  nonplussed.  Occasionally  he  glimpsed 
Gray  Jack,  as  the  mass  of  animals  churned  and  milled, 
but  he  never  dared  to  cast.  There  were  so  many 
heads  all  in  motion! 

"  Anybody  want  a  hawss  ?  I  got  two  at  once, 
here !  "  announced  the  Triangle  Cross  man,  plaintively. 

"  Nearly  got  somethin'  by  the  leg,  myself,"  re- 
turned another  rider.    "  Come  out  o'  there,  you !  " 

"  Anybody  see  a  little  bay  with  a  *  76 '  on  his 
hip  ? "  asked  a  third.      "  Can't  find  him,  myself." 

"  He's  there.  He  come  with  the  rest,"  called  Hom- 
bre, from  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  heaped  plate  by  the 
fire. 

One  after  another,  and  two  and  three  at  the  same 
instant,  the  curling  ropes  flew  in  over  the  herd  with 
a  whizz,  the  loops  snapped  upon  unwilling  necks, 
and  the  horses  were  dragged  out  and  led  away  to  be 
■saddled. 

"What  you  lookin'  for,  boy?"  asked  Old  Jess, 
his  own  horse  in  hand. 

"Why,  Gray  Jack.  But  I  can't  get  a  chance  at 
him,"  said  Phil,  in  despair. 

"Hold  this  animal  o'  mine,  an'  trade  ropes  with 


I70 


BAR   B    BOYS 


me.  No — put  your  loop  through  mine,  from  behind, 
an'  over  his  head;  this  way.  Then  the  other  fellow 
doesn't  have  to  pull  his  rope  through  yours.  Now 
I'll  yank  your  Gray  Jack  out,  I  reckon." 

Old  Jess  coiled  his  rawhide,  and  scanned  the 
heads. 

"  I  see  him,"  he  said.  He  whirled  his  rope,  bel- 
ligerently, and  stepping  a  few  paces  shot  it  forward 
and  over.  With  wicked  swish  the  smooth  heavy 
braid  flew  like  an  arrow.  Old  Jess  jerked  taut,  and 
grunted  satisfaction. 

"  Here  comes  your  hawss,"  he  announced,  pulling. 
Sure  enough  out  burst  Gray  Jack. 

Phil  gladly  traded  ropes  again,  and  conducted  Gray 
Jack  to  saddle  and  bridle. 

"  Come  on,  Phil !  Watch ! "  cried  Chet.  ''  Henry's 
going  to  uncork  a  horse. 

"Give  him  room,  boys,"  cautioned  Mr.  Simms. 

"Yes,  give  us  room.  This  hawss  's  liable  to  need 
it,"  panted  Henry,  of  the  Lazy  J,  tugging  at  a  cinch, 
while  Ford  held  the  bits. 

The  men  near  him  led  their  horses  aside.  Every- 
body respectfully  watched.  Henry  "  rocked  "  the  sad- 
dle, and  finding  it  to  his  liking  gently  gathered  the 
lines,  and  as  gently  inserted  his  foot  in  the  stirrup. 
The  horse,  a  small  roan  with  a  big  "  K  Bar  K " 
(K — K)  showing  on  his  flank,  stood  perfectly  quiet, 
but  in  a  peculiar  attitude  of  straddled  legs,  as  if 
braced  under  the  saddle — or  as  if  sleepy. 

"  Aw — I  don*t  believe  he's  going  to  do  anything ; 
is  he?"  delivered  Phil,  bluffly. 


THE    ROAN    JUMPED,    STIFF    LEGGED,     BACK    ARCHED,     HEAD    DOWN. 


THE   BIG   CIRCLE  171 

"With  his  back  humped  like  that?  Gee!  You 
wait  and  see,"  reproved  Chet,  out  of  his  superior 
knowledge. 

Henry  suddenly  swung  into  the  saddle.  With  a 
single  motion  he  was  there  and  firmly  seated,  lines 
held  high. 

"Let  him  go,"  he  said;  and  Ford  sprang  away. 
For  a  moment  the  roan  stood,  motionless,  as  if  dazed ; 
then,  while  the  spectators  yelled  their  delight,  with 
a  convulsive  start  forth  he  jumped,  through  the  brush, 
stiff  legged,  back  arched,  head  down,  bawling  and 
grunting. 

Henry's  hat  soared  high  and  floated  to  the  ground. 

"  Pick  it  up,  somebody,"  he  besought,  "  'fore  it  gets 
stepped  on." 

"  That  hawss  ain't  buckin',"  declared  the  cook. 
"  He's  about  all  in,  this  quick.     There  he  goes " 

For  under  the  jabbing  of  the  spurs  the  roan,  aban- 
doning his  dancing  on  his  toes,  broke  into  a  run,  and 
with  great  leaps  went  scouring  across  the  flat. 

A  keen  whoop  of  pleasure  drifted  behind,  as  Henry 
welcomed  the  change;  and  away  he  sped. 

"  Never  did  know  a  roan  that  wouldn't  peter  out," 
remarked  Foreman  Jess.  "  All  over,  boys.  Any- 
body else  got  a  hawss  to  uncork?  Well,  let's  get 
started.      Day's   'most  gone  an'  nothin'  done  yet !  '* 

"  Savin'  my  hawss,  till  I  get  stronger,"  said  Haney, 
mounting  with  easy,  negligent  grace.  "  But  you-all 
wait  till  Smith-Jones  uncohks  Medicine  Eye.  When 
you  goin'  to  ride  him,  Smith-Jones  ?  " 

Phil  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  answer.     Haney's 


172  BAR    B   BOYS 

allusion  was  too  serious.  For  Medicine  Eye  did  act 
up — even  Chet  admitted  that. 

"  When  some  of  you  get  a  real  bad  hawss  you 
want  uncawked  turn  him  over  to  me.  I'll  ride  him," 
boasted  Pete  the  cook,  whose  cow-puncher  blood 
seemed  aroused. 

"  Hi !  There  goes  Chet !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Simms. 
"Nigger's  frisky  this  morning.  Didn't  suppose  he'd 
need  any  uncorking." 

Jumping  like  any  billy  goat  was  Chet's  horse,  with 
Chet  riding  gallantly,  albeit  tugging  at  the  lines. 

^*  Don't  lift  his  head.  Have  it  out  with  him,"  or- 
dered his  father.     "  Scratch  him.     Don't  be  afraid." 

So  while  the  men  cheered  and  Phil  watched 
anxiously,  Chet  let  the  lines  lax,  and  sitting  his  best, 
spurred  roundly. 

Nigger  quit,  received  a  meed  of  applause;  Chet, 
perspiring,  red,  grinned.  Phil,  wishing  that  his  own 
test  was  passed,  almost  envied  him. 

Not  without  a  little  thrill  of  uncertainty  he  pro- 
ceeded to  board  Gray  Jack.  He  felt  that  he  was 
covertly  being  observed  and  estimated — and  evidently 
on  this  frosty  morning  there  was  no  telling  what  a 
horse  might  do,  the  example  having  been  set.  But 
Gray  Jack  stood  staid  and  firm. 

Henry  came  loping  back  from  his  run,  and  took 
his  hat  without  comment.  His  adventure  was  ancient 
history. 

**  I  guess  we'll  try  to  clean  up  east  o'  the  creek  to- 
day, boys,"  quoth  Old  Jess.  "  We'll  drift  them  cattle 
over,  an'  start  'em  on,  the  first." 


THE   BIG   CIRCLE  173 

And  he  crisply  apportioned  the  country,  sending 
the  men  off  two  by  two.    Phil  and  Chet  waited. 

"  You  lads  can  come  with  me,"  said  Old  Jess, 
finally;  and  he  rode  out.  "We'll  take  Cottonwood 
Canon,  ourselves." 

"  Gee !     That's  eighteen  miles,"  ejaculated  Chet. 

"If  you  can't  ride  it  yuh  can  stay  in  camp  an' 
help  the  cook,"  proffered  Old  Jess,  with  sarcastic 
directness. 

"Naw!  You  bet  I  can  ride  it,"  declared  Chet. 
"Can't  you,  Phil?" 

"  Sure  I  can,"  asserted  Phil,  endeavoring  to  fit 
his  feet  into  the  stirrups  so  as  to  avoid  those  same 
old  gouges  in  his  shins. 

"It's  the  big  circle  of  the  day;  isn't  it,  Jess?" 
declared  Chet. 

"  I  reckon,"  answered  Old  Jess. 

Heading  out  across  the  wide  expanse  of  sage  and 
greasewood  he  obliqued  from  the  creek,  and  ap- 
proached the  mesas.  Along  the  base  of  these  ran  a 
wagon-trail;  and,  trotting,  he  turned  upon  it. 

Trot,  trot,  trot,  they  went,  Chet  and  Old  Jess  be- 
fore, Phil  behind.  Trot,  trot,  trot,  over  the  wind- 
ing road,  which,  now  rock,  now  thick  with  dust  made 
gray  by  the  alkali,  wound  interminably  on,  up  hill 
and  down.  Buster  and  the  Triangle  Cross  man  turned 
off,  into  a  draw.  Ford  and  Henry  turned  off.  Now 
left  to  themselves,  Old  Jess  and  the  two  boys  trotted 
on. 

Old  Jess  did  not  seem  disposed  toward  chatting; 
his  mind  was  upon  reaching  his  destination.    He  and 


174 


BAR    B    BOYS 


Chet  occasionally  stood  in  their  stirrups  and  rested 
hands  upon  their  saddle  horns ;  Phil  did  the  same.  Trot, 
trot,  trot;  with  the  sun  glaring  down  and  setting  the 
mesas  to  shimmering,  and  the  dust  rising  easier  and 
easier,  and  the  saddle  (at  least  Phil's  saddle)  waxing 
hotter  and  hotter.  Trot,  trot,  trot — a  steady  plugging 
pace  that  was  worse  than  the  fat  chief  had  made,  be- 
cause over  the  hard  road  and  in  the  dust  and  alkali. 

Trot,  trot,  trot.  A  hard  taskmaster  was  Old  Jess. 
Phil  groaned  to  himself  and  shifted  in  that  saddle 
which  he  was  polishing  so  incessantly. 

They  left  the  road  and  entered  a  sagy  draw  flow- 
ing down  between  mesas  with  precipitous  rim-rock 
sides.  Through  the  draw  trotted  Old  Jess,  and  pres- 
ently turning  chose  the  steep  dry  bed  of  a  stream  that 
must  at  times  be  a  raging  torrent  draining  the  mesa. 
Up  this  passage  he  forced  his  horse,  Chet  and  Phil 
following;  and  slipping  and  scrambling  upon  the 
water-worn  ledges  and  boulders  they  emerged  at  the 
summit.  Phil  never  would  have  believed  that  a  horse 
could  have  climbed  such  a  course. 

Now  they  were  on  top  of  this  mesa.  Pausing  while 
the  horses  panted  for  breath,  Old  Jess,  gazing  at  the 
view  spread  southward,  said: 

"  Want  to  see  where  you  got  off  the  train,  boy  ? 
There  it  is — that  saddle  yonder." 

"  To  the  right  of  that  snow-peak,  you  mean  ?  Away 
off  there?" 

**  That's  the  divide  where  the  railroad  crosses." 

**  How  far  from  here,  Jess?" 

"  Hundred  miles." 


THE   BIG   CIRCLE  175 

Phil  stared.     It  did  not  look  so  far. 

Old  Jess  dismounted  and  tightened  his  cinch.  The 
boys  tightened  theirs. 

"  You  two  clean  this  mesa  and  the  flat  the  other 
side,"  he  directed.  "  I'll  meet  you  where  you  come 
out." 

He  went  trotting  off,  along  the  mesa's  western 
edge. 

"  All  right.  Come  on,  Phil.  There  are  some,  over 
in  the  cedars,"  and  Chet,  spurring  Nigger  to  a  gallop, 
was  away,  too. 

They  raced  easily  through  the  brush.  Seeing  them 
coming  a  number  of  cattle  resting  in  the  shade  of 
a  clump  of  cedars  raised  their  heads  to  watch.  As 
the  boys  drew  near,  out  the  cattle  bolted,  half-wild, 
resentful  at  the  intrusion.  Steers  and  cows  and  sev- 
eral calves  they  were,  crashing  from  the  cedars  into 
the  open. 

"  Head  'em  across.  There'll  be  a  lot  more,  and  we'll 
leave  these  and  drive  'em  all  down  together,"  in- 
structed Chet. 

So  they  gave  the  little  band  a  good  start  along  a 
cattle  trail  winding  in  the  right  direction;  and  left 
them.  The  cattle  halted,  dully  gazed  behind  them  and 
around;  and  proceeded  mechanically  on  again,  as  if, 
their  peace  having  been  destroyed,  they  might  as  well 
keep  moving  to  another  asylum. 

It  was  good  sport,  hunting  the  mesa  for  cattle. 
Here  and  there  the  boys  galloped,  all  in  the  clear, 
fragrant  air  of  the  flat  table-land,  in  rivalry  to  see 
which  should  succeed  in  routing  out  the  larger  bunch. 


176 


lOYS 


The  mesa  evidently  was  a  favorite  resort,  for  it  was 
well  cut  with  trails,  and  the  ground  among  the  cedars 
was  trodden  hard.  Once,  in  the  sage,  Phil  almost 
rode  upon  a  little  calf  so  sound  asleep,  curled  in  a  ball, 
like  a  dog,  that  he  shouted  at  it  to  awaken  it.  It 
opened  its  eyes,  sprang  panic-stricken  to  all  four  legs, 
and  staggering  from  its  nap  ran  blindly  and  confused, 
blatting  for  its  mammy.  In  the  distance  she  an- 
swered; with  "ma-a-a!"  and  "moo-00,"  the  twain 
met — baby  to  claim  refreshments,  mother  to  nose  for 
possible  injury. 

All  the  mesa  had  been  ransacked,  and  it  seemed 
scarcely  likely  that  any  animals,  even  a  tiny  calf  asleep, 
could  have  been  missed.  In  several  strings  the  ousted 
cattle  were  trailing  along,  across  the  mesa,  and  gradu- 
ally converging.  Phil  and  Chet  followed,  riding 
"  straight  up,"  as  befitted  masters  of  a  herd,  vigilant 
to  turn  in  stragglers  whose  minds  still  clung  to  these 
local  haunts;  when  the  paths  became  one  they  had 
quite  a  bunch  before  them:  steers,  cows,  heifers, 
calves,  and  a  great  white- faced  bull;  all-colors  and 
various  brands. 

The  trail  dipped  over  the  edge  of  a  mesa  and  ran 
obliquely  but  abruptly  to  a  wide  flat  below.  So  over 
the  edge  plunged  the  cattle,  and  crowding,  slipping,  in 
a  cloud  of  dust  patiently  continued  on. 

"  Don't  hurry  them,"  cautioned  Chet.  "  Let  'em 
take  their  time." 

In  the  parching  wake  of  the  mass  down  they,  too, 
finally  plunged. 


THE   BIG   CIRCLE  177 

The  flat  was  dotted  with  other  cattle,  quietly  graz- 
ing; the  mesa  projected  into  it  with  a  high  point. 

"You  go  around  this  side  and  I'll  go  around  the 
other,"  directed  Chet.  "  We've  got  to  drift  them  all 
this  way." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE     SIGNS     IN     THE     ARROYO 


They  separated.  Gray  Jack,  pricking  his  ears  at 
fresh  conquest,  loped  wiUingly  again,  and  Phil  pressed 
to  make  a  circuit  behind  the  furthermost  animals. 
What  an  arroyo  barred  his  way !  At  least  twenty  feet 
deep  it  was  and  almost  the  same  in  width.  With  im- 
patience he  skirted  it,  seeking  to  cross.  The  cattle 
beyond  were  gazing  at  him.  Some  were  liable  to 
make  off.  In  desperation  he  sent  Gray  Jack  at  a 
slightly  shelving  spot,  and  headlong  they  slid  down, 
landing  recklessly  but  right  side  up. 

Now  they  were  in,  and  the  question  was,  how  to 
get  out  again!  High  towered  the  gray  dirt  walls, 
mottled  and  streaked  with  the  white  of  alkali.  They 
trotted  briskly  through  the  defile,  over  the  soft  bot- 
tom tracked  as  usual  by  cattle.  Horsemen — or  at 
least  horses — also  had  preceded  him  in  this  arroyo; 
their  hoofs  were  mingled  with  the  cattle  hoofs.  Sud- 
denly Phil's  eye,  roving  from  side  to  side  in  quest 
of  an  ascent,  caught  sight  of  a  stick  hanging  like  a 
skewer  to  the  right-hand  wall.  It  bi"»re  tied  about 
it  a  small  rag;  he  sidled  Gray  Jack  to  it  and  reach- 
ing high,  pulled  it  out. 

It  was  a  straight  stem  of  brush,  wih  larger  end 
sharpened.     The  rag  was  tied  to  the  smaller  end, 

178 


THE    SIGNS   IN   THE   ARROYO        179 

and  looked  like  a  fragment  of  a  white  handkerchief 
— woman's  handkerchief,  by  the  fineness  of  it. 

Examining  it,  Phil  rode  on ;  and  presently  he  came 
to  another  skewer,  similarly  adorned;  this  was  al- 
most beyond  his  grasp,  but  standing  in  his  stirrups 
he  managed  to  jerk  it  loose. 

Then  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  these  might 
be  signs  put  there  for  a  purpose,  and  in  tampering 
with  them  he  was  laying  himself  open  to  a  reprimand. 
So  he  stuck  both  skewers  back  into  the  dirt.  He 
passed  another  of  the  tokens — but  it  was  higher  than 
he  could  reach,  and  he  wondered  how  it  got  there. 
Perhaps  these  were  water  levels  when  the  arroyo 
was  half-filled  with  water!  Then  men  in  boats  had 
set  the  skewers,  like  stakes.  Why?  And  here,  next, 
was  a  skewer  much  lower,  opposite  his  knee.  He 
did  not  touch  it.  The  white  rag  hanging  from  it 
certainly  was  from  a  small  handkerchief,  for  it  was 
the  corner  thereof  and  bore  the  letter  "  C." 

Phil  jogged  on,  anxiously  seeking  an  exit.  In  a 
few  moments  he  noted,  scratched  in  the  adobe  on  the 
side  where  he  had  been  looking  for  more  of  the 
skewers,  a  rude  arrow  pointing  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, and  beyond  it  a  "  P."  Further  along  he  passed 
an  "L,'*  and  next  an  "E";  at  a  longer  interval  an 
"  H  " ;  and  if  there  were  more  letters  he  missed  them, 
for  he  discovered  none. 

Humph !  What  sense  was  there  to  such  a  combina- 
tion?    And,  anyway,  he  wanted  to  get  out  of  this 


i8o 


BAR   B    BOYS 


confounded  arroyo,  and  to  gather  these  cattle.  That 
was  his  business,  as  a  cowboy. 

The  letters  had  ceased,  but  he  encountered  curious 
hieroglyphics;  first  a  >p,  which  he  tried  to  read  as 
a  Cross  brand;  and  then  a  4^,  which  might  be  a 
watering-pot  nozzle.  He  passed  the  remnants  of  a 
camp-fire — evidently  antedating  the  last  rain,  for  its 
ashes  had  run.  It  might  have  been  the  fire  of  the 
party  who  had  made  a  survey  through  the  arroyo,  and 
had  left  those  symbols.  Maybe  this  arroyo  was  to  be 
used  as  an  irrigating  ditch!  Perhaps  oil  prospectors 
— the  ones  seen  by  Buster  in  the  red  automobile,  in 
"town,"  that  time, — had  been  in  the  arroyo. 

At  any  rate,  here  finally  was  a  trail  out ;  and  gladly 
abandoning  the  arroyo  and  its  mysteries  they  clam- 
bered up,  to  emerge  into  the  open  again.  Phil 
eagerly  looked  for  Chet,  and  beheld  him  already  en 
route,  obliquing  onward  across  the  flat  with  a  new 
bunch  of  cattle.  So  he  himself  must  hustle ;  and  spur- 
ring Gray  Jack  to  a  gallop  he  circuited  his  own  con- 
tingent, to  weave  back  and  forth  in  their  rear  and 
shout  and  urge.  They  made  their  trail,  themselves, 
crossing  the  arroyo  lower  down,  at  an  easy  pass,  and 
continuing  through  the  brush  to  join  their  fellows. 
The  three  bunches — Phil's,  Chefs,  and  the  one  from 
the  mesa, — coalesced  made  quite  a  little  herd. 

Cows  moo-ed,  calves  maa-ed,  steers  clashed  horns, 
the  bull  bellowed,  the  dust  of  sage  and  of  alkali  hung 
in  a  pungent  stinging  cloud,  and  drifted  back  upon 
the  nostrils  of  the  boys  an  acrid,  nauseous  odor,  once 
breathed,  never  forgotten. 


THE    SIGNS   IN   THE    ARROYO        i8i 

"What  is  that?"  demanded  Phil,  wrinkhng  his 
nose. 

"  Wild  onions  they've  been  eating,"  informed  Chet. 
"  See  what  I  found  ? "  he  said ;  and  trotting  over 
from  his  flank  he  handed  it  to  Phil,  and  trotted  back 
again. 

It  was  a  skewer  like  those  of  the  arroyo,  and  bore 
instead  of  a  rag  a  bit  of  folded  brownish  paper  in- 
serted in  a  cleft  at  the  smaller  end.  Phil  opened  the 
paper  and  saw: 


t 


roughly  and  uncertainly  drawn  as  if  with  a  burnt 
match  or  a  piece  of  coal. 

"  Found  it  sticking  in  the  sage,"  called  Chet,  from 
flank  to  flank. 

**  Where?" 

"  Oh ;  over  there,  where  I  was  riding.  Right  near 
a  bend  in  the  arroyo.  Throw  it  away.  I  don't  want  it 
any  more." 

Phil  pondered  over  it.  "What  do  you  suppose  it 
means?"  he  queried.     "Some  joke?" 

"  Don't  know,  don't  care,"  answered  Chet.  "  Get 
along,  you  old  fool  of  a  mammy."  He  thwacked  a 
loitering  red  cow  with  his  rope-end. 

"  That  arroyo's  full  of  things,  too,"  declared  Phil, 
as  his  share  of  news.  "  Some  sticks  like  this  are 
sticking  in  the  walls,  high  up,  with  rags  instead  of 
paper  fastened  to  them ;  and  somebody's  been  scratch- 
ing brands  and  letters  in  the  dirt." 

"What  brands?" 


l82 


BAR    B    BOYS 


"  I  couldn't  read  them.  But  there  was  an  arrow, 
and  the  letters  P  L  E  H,  and  then  two  signs — like 
this.     I'll  show  you." 

With  a  pencil  stub  on  the  envelope  of  his  telegram, 
held  against  his  chap-sheathed  knee,  Phil  drew  his 
diagram  thus — stopped  short  by  the  envelope's  edge: 

"Say!"  he  ejaculated,  with  sudden  light,  perusing 
his  work.  "  My  two  signs  make  that  one  of  your's !  " 
He  rode  over.  "  See,  it's  a  picture  of  a  girl,  cut  in 
two  in  the  middle." 

"Look  like  Injun  drawings,"  vouchsafed  Chet,  ex- 
amining. "  That's  the  way  the  Ute  signs  painted  on 
the  rocks  up  above  the  house  look.  But  mine  said 
*  Help ' ;  yours  doesn't  say  anything.  Just  PLEH. 
Huh.    Maybe  that's  a  Ute  word." 

"  Oh,  shucks !  "  cried  Phil.  "  I'm  on  to  it !  What  do 
you  know,  Chet  ?  That's  nothing  but  *  help '  spelled 
backwards.  *  H-E-L-P '  and  P-L-E-H!  I  read  it 
from  the  wrong  end." 

"  Aw,  gee !  "  derided  Chet.  And  now  an  idea  burst 
on  him,  also.  "I  bet  you  that  girl  the  rustlers  have 
did  this !  She  wants  to  get  away ! "  He  reined  short. 
His  face  was  very  earnest.  "  She  threw  this  stick 
into  the  sage,  with  the  paper  on  it,  and  she  stuck  those 
sticks  you  saw,  and  left  those  signs " 

"  And  the  arrow  to  show  which  way  she  was  go- 
ing!" supplemented  Phil,  excited.  "We  ought  to 
follow  her  and  rescue  her."     He  wheeled  Gray  Jack. 

"  We  sure  ought,"  agreed  Chet.    "  But — this  paper's 


THE    SIGNS   IN   THE    ARROYO        183 

been  out  four  days.  It*s  got  rained  on.  The  last  rain 
was  four  days  ago — in  the  afternoon,  you  know/* 

"  I  saw  a  camp-fire  in  the  arroyo.  It  had  been 
rained  on,  too,"  said  Pliil.  He  held  his  horse. 
"  Shucks ! "  he  deplored. 

"  There's  no  telling  where  they  are,  now.  We  met 
that  man  with  the  frozen  smile  away  back,  on  the  trail, 
remember.  So  I  guess  we'd  better  keep  on  with  the 
cattle,"  decided  Chet,  gravely. 

Resuming  their  positions  they  reluctantly  pushed 
onward  again  with  their  drive. 

"  There's  Jess,"  announced  Chet.     "  See  him  ?  " 

Ahead,  in  the  rolling  expanse  of  sage,  a  solitary 
horseman  was  holding  another  bunch  of  cattle.  The 
boys'  animals,  sighting  their  kind,  quickened  their 
pace  slightly. 

They  blared,  and  those  before  answered.  The  bull, 
hearing  a  rival,  rumbled  menacingly,  and  fain  would 
pause  to  throw  dirt.  Phil  daringly  whacked  him  with 
the  rope. 

As  the  distance  lessened,  Phil  was  gratified  to  nore 
that  his  and  Chet's  bunch  was  the  larger. 

"  You  did  pretty  well,  didn't  yuh,"  commented  Old 
Jess,  inspecting  critically,  as  the  two  bunches  joined. 
"  But  you  got  somebody's  old  milk-cow,  there.  What'd 
you  fetch  her  along  for?  Get  out  o'  there,"  and  rid- 
ing in  he  separated  a  red  and  white  animal  from 
the  rest  and  turned  her  back.  "Run  her  off,  or  old 
Mrs.  Jones'll  scalp  yuh  bald-headed,  sure." 

Rather  shamefaced  Phil  chased  the  persistent  beast 
through  the  brush  (Gray  Jack  enjoying  the  sport)  and 


i84 


BAR   B    BOYS 


left  her  convinced  that  she  was  not  wanted,  but  pro- 
testingly  mooing.  He  overtook  the  drive,  which  was 
again  moving  onward. 

From  this  side  and  from  that,  entered  other  riders, 
with  their  bunches ;  Ford  and  Dick,  Buster  and  Henry, 
Mr.  Simms  and  the  Open  A  man,  and  all,  bringing 
their  gathers,  until  finally,  uniting  with  a  last  bunch 
held  and  waiting  at  a  spot  before,  the  whole  was  to- 
gether. 

"  Might  as  well  cut  'em  out  right  here,"  quoth  Old 
Jess.     "  Go  ahead.  Ford ;  you  an'  Henry." 

.While  the  others  kept  the  circumference  of  the  un- 
easy herd  the  two  rode  through,  back  and  forth,  right 
and  left,  eying  sharply  and  constantly  forcing  some 
cow  or  steer  to  the  edge,  where  it  was  instantly  headed 
out  into  the  open.  Some  were  willing  to  be  sent  trot- 
ting off.  But  some  were  determined  to  get  in  again; 
and  everybody  was  busy  blocking  their  return,  and 
giving  short  chases.  Moreover,  animals  from  the  herd 
were  always  breaking  away,  unauthorized,  and  must 
be  turned  in.  It  was  feverish,  impatient  work  under 
the  hot,  parching  sun,  in  the  midst  of  the  alkali  dust 
— ^but  Phil  liked  it.  His  station  bore  its  share  of  re- 
sponsibility;  he  was  a  unit  in  the  field.  One  of  the 
white-faced  bulls  came  walking  out.  He  gallantly 
charged  it ;  and  instead  of  turning,  it  fronted  him  with 
red  eyes  and  rumble,  and  pawed  defiance.  Gray  Jack 
swerved,  and  balked.  Phil,  taken  aback  by  the  burly 
opposition,  scanned  the  bull  rather  doubtfully. 

"  Better  let  him  alone,"  shouted  voices.  "  You're 
liable  to  get  in  trouble." 


THE    SIGNS   IN   THE   ARROYO        185 

"  Let  him  go,  Phil,"  agreed  Chet.  "  He's  mad,  and 
he  ain't  afraid  of  anything,  then." 

So  Phil,  accepting  discretion  as  the  better  part  of 
valor,  withdrew  his  opposition.  The  bull,  rumbling 
sullenly,  slowly  turned  and  went  shouldering  through 
the  mass  seeking  his  rival. 

**  All  out,  I  think,"  stated  Ford,  his  nimble  mount 
weaving  here  and  there,  while  Henry,  at  ease  in  the 
saddle,  cast  an  eye  over  the  array  of  backs  and  flanks. 

"  There's  a  thunderin'  big  maverick  in  yon,"  he  an- 
nounced. 

"We'll  brand  her  when  we  get  on  down.  She's 
a  Seven  D  cow.  I  brought  her  in.  Her  grand- 
mammy's  'round  somewheres,  too,"  said  Old  Jess. 
"  Found  'em  'way  up  on  the  mesy.  They  range  'tother 
side  the  mountain.    All  right,  boys." 

Leaving  behind  the  discard  of  animals  whose  brands 
indicated  that  they  belonged  hereabouts  and  were  not 
to  be  shoved  up  with  the  main  body,  the  drive  resumed 
its  course  once  more. 

"  That  hawss  of  Ford's  is  the  best  cutting  hawss  in 
the  country,"  declared  Chet,  proudly.  "Did  you  see 
how  he  stuck  to  a  cow  ?  " 

"What's  his  name?"  asked  Phil. 

"  Lonesome.  Ford  can  show  him  a  cow  or  calf  in 
a  bunch  and  turn  him  loose  without  saddle  or  bridle 
and  he'll  bring  it  out  himself!  Every  time!  He's  a 
dandy.  Ford  did  it  once  on  a  bet.  I  saw  him.  They 
always  get  Ford  and  Lonesome  to  do  the  cutting,  if 
they  can." 

It  was  a  long,  hard  drive.    Already  Phil  was  tired. 


i86 


BAR    B    BOYS 


He  had  ridden  miles,  up  hill  and  down — trotting-,  gal- 
loping, walking;  his  lips  were  cracked,  his  throat  was 
husky  with  alkali  and  raw  with  shouting.  Enveloped 
in  the  dust,  and  the  reek  of  wild  onions  and  perspira- 
tion from  the  herd  before,  forming  with  Chet  the 
right  tip  of  the  crescent  of  riders,  he  pressed  on. 
Burning  was  the  sun.  There  was  no  breeze,  no  water, 
no  lunch.  More  and  more  perverse  waxed  the  cattle. 
The  whitish  dust  covered  their  backs.  Their  tongues 
hung  out  and  they  panted.  Wearied,  wabbling  little 
calves  lagged,  almost  unable  to  stand,  bawling  for 
their  mothers  and  refreshment;  and  the  mothers  were 
constantly  lagging,  also,  looking  anxiously  for  their 
babes.  Steers  fretfully  horned  one  another;  the  two 
ponderous  bulls  waddled  heavily,  the  fight  effectively 
taken  out  of  them.  At  the  rear  the  riders  shouted  and 
scolded  and  whacked,  using  their  reserve  nervous  force 
to  the  limit.  The  herd  was  literally  being  shoved  on- 
ward. Phil  would  have  been  glad  to  tumble  off  his 
horse,  into  the  sage,  and  lie  as  he  struck.  But  he 
kept  his  flank  in  motion,  regardless.  It  had  to  be  done ; 
and  he  ruthlessly  brought  his  rope-end  down  across 
the  tottering  black-and-white  youngster  who  was  al- 
ways under  Gray  Jack's  forefeet. 

For  the  law  of  the  range  admits  of  no  partiality. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE   BRANDING   OF   THE    BIG   MAVERICK 

Now  into  another  road,  stretching  onward  and  on- 
ward, sometimes  skirting  a  hill,  sometimes  traversing 
only  the  flat,  monotonous  plain;  always  hot,  always 
parched,  always  powdery,  moved  the  drive,  and  toiled 
along;  cow,  calf  and  steer  rebellious  at  the  stress  which 
they  could  not  understand,  horses  fretting,  riders  ever 
urging,  man  and  beast  alike  enveloped  in  a  common 
cloud  of  dust  fumy  with  alkali  and  perspiration  and 
the  rank  wild-onion  breath.  The  afternoon  sun 
streamed  quartering  under  the  broad  hat-brims,  into 
the  riders'  eyes. 

The  leading  cattle,  lowing  hoarsely,  broke  into  a 
lumbering  trot;  and  presently  the  whole  herd  was 
pressing  at  its  best  speed,  stringing  out  more  and  more 
as  the  stronger  forged  to  the  front,  the  weaker  fell 
behind. 

"  There's  a  water-hole  yonder,"  informed  Chet, 
thickly,  to  Phil.    "  Head  'em  off !  " 

But  as  he  and  Phil,  and  other  flankers,  spurred  their 
jaded  horses  in  sudden  circuit.  Old  Jess  forbade. 

"Let  'em  go!"  he  shouted.  "Can't  hold  'em. 
No  matter.     It's  far  enough  for  to-day." 

Obliquing  from  the  road,  through  the  brush  labored 
the  herd,   at  gallop,  trot  and  walk,  taking  its  own 

187 


1 88 


BAR   B    BOYS 


course;  and  the  horses  also  kindled.  For  water  in 
the  desert  is  life. 

The  foremost  cattle  crowded  into  a  stagnant,  white- 
rimmed  pool,  and  speedily  a  mass  of  the  animals  was 
shoving  and  struggling  for  space  to  plunge  hot,  dry 
nose  into  the  tepid  fluid,  for  long,  greedy  gulps.  The 
van  having  halted  and  no  impetus  being  given  by  the 
tyrants  who  had  so  relentlessly  driven,  the  middle  and 
rear  also  halted.  Calves  dropped  in  their  tracks  and 
lay  panting ;  others  instantly  fastened  upon  their  mam- 
mies and  took  refreshment  then  and  there;  and  im- 
mediately the  brush  was  a  spectacle  of  resting  travel- 
ers, too  tired,  the  most  of  them,  to  graze.  The  favored 
ones  remained  luxuriously  knee-deep  in  the  pool,  bliss- 
ful and  blinking. 

"  A  couple  o'  you  men  stay  'til  we  brand  that 
maverick,  an'  the  others  of  yuh  can  go  on  to  camp," 
said  Old  Jess. 

"  Phil  and  I'll  stay,"  announced  Chet,  promptly. 
"  Shall  we,  Phil  ?  "  he  asked.     "  There'll  be  some  fun." 

Phil  nodded. 

"  All  right,"  he  agreed. 

If  any  "  fun  "  was  to  be  the  outcome  now  of  this 
most  onerous  day  he  assuredly  did  not  want  to  miss  it. 
But,  wow!  He  was  limp  and  wearied  and  didn't 
much  care  whether  school  kept  or  not ! 

"  Don't  we  give  the  horses  a  drink?"  he  asked. 

"They  won't  drink  that  stuff  after  the  cattle  have 
riled  it  up  so.  I  don't  believe  they'd  drink,  anyway, 
until  they're  unsaddled." 

Chet  dismounted;  Phil  did  likewise — and  stood  on 


BRANDING   THE  BIG    MAVERICK     189 

numbed  feet,  with  crooked  knees.  Gray  Jack  and 
Monte  drooped  their  heads  and  dozed. 

"  Look !  Haney  and  Jess  are  going  after  the  maver- 
ick !    Ford's  bringing  her  out." 

The  majority  of  the  riders  had  taken  the  foreman  at 
his  word  and  were  trotting  away.  However,  Ford  had 
stayed,  along  with  Haney;  and  whether  this  was  a  re- 
flection upon  the  ability  of  the  two  boys  who  had  so 
promptly  responded  to  the  demand,  nobody  delayed 
matters  to  argue. 

"  That'll  do,"  directed  Old  Jess,  when  the  victim, 
an  overgrown  rangy  red  yearling,  had  been  edged  into 
an  open  space. 

He  and  Haney  were  attending  cautiously ;  and  now 
the  Texan's  rope  sailed  out,  to  drop  its  loop  neatly 
over  the  dazed  animal's  head.  Continuing  on  Haney 
took  up  the  slack.  At  the  tautening  the  yearling 
awoke.  Back  and  forth  she  surged,  like  a  great  fish 
hooked.  She  bawled  madly;  she  leaped  and  kicked. 
In  his  saddle  Haney  grimly  sat,  and  to  her  frantic 
jerks  gave  no  inch. 

Old  Jess,  watchful  as  a  hawk,  followed  her  motions, 
his  rawhide  loop  swishing  as  he  swung  it,  his  horse 
keeping  an  equal  distance.  Around  and  around  lunged 
the  angry  heifer,  thus  suddenly  annoyed  into  re- 
newed strength,  bawling  hoarsely ;  around  and  around 
pursued  Old  Jess. 

'*Kick!"  he  derided.  "Kick!  The  higher  yuh 
kick  the  better." 

His  slim  noose  shot  out  and  downward,  and  with 
a  flipping  motion  he  jerked,  reining  back  sharply. 


190 


BAR  B    BOYS 


"  Got  her,  all  right !  "  declared  Chet  and  Ford. 

"  You  bet  I  got  her,"  affirmed  Old  Jess,  his  wrinkled, 
grimy  countenance  revealing  a  certain  satisfaction. 
"  Only  by  one  leg,  though." 

The  heifer  was  in  a  most  uncomfortable  position. 
Stretched  by  Old  Jess'  rope  her  leg,  well  elevated,  ex- 
tended behind ;  stretched  by  Haney's  rope  her  neck  ex- 
tended straight  before;  but  still  she  fought  gamely 
(gallant  young  creature!),  balanced  between  the  two 
tethers,  and  pulled  in  opposite  directions,  but  refusing 
to  fall. 

"  Swing  her,"  called  Haney. 

"  Break  her  leg,"  objected  Old  Jess.  "  Rope's  too 
low." 

"  Doin*  all  /  can,"  averred  the  Texan. 

"  M-maa  aa-aa ! "  bawled  the  unhappy  heifer,  half 
choked. 

"  Whoop-ee !  "  gibed  the  spectators,  keen  to  the  pre- 
dicament. 

Ford,  dismounting,  darted  in,  and  seizing  the  help- 
less animal  by  the  tail,  with  a  violent  tug,  while  the 
boys  cheered,  hauled  her  sideways,  and  down  she 
thumped,  overpowered  but  never  conquered. 

"  Better  snag  that  other  laig,  somebody,"  called 
Haney,  as  he  and  Old  Jess,  straining  back  from  their 
saddle-horns,  held  the  animal  prostrate  but  by  no 
means  quiet. 

"  I  will !  "  volunteered  Chet,  eagerly. 

"Let  Smith-Jones.  Time  he  was  broken  in.  He 
ain't  earnin'  his  pay,"  quoth  Haney.  "  Take  down 
youah  new  rope,  Smith-Jones." 


BRANDING   THE  BIG   MAVERICK     191 

"  Get  on  your  hawss,  boy,"  bade  Old  Jess,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Throw  me  your  loop,  Phil."  And  Ford  adroitly 
slipped  it  over  the  heifer's  two  hind  legs,  as  Old  Jess 
eased  up  sufficiently.  "  Take  your  dallies — wrap  the 
end  around  the  horn — pull  the  rope  tight  and  your 
horse'll  keep  it  so.    He  knows." 

"  Yes.  All  you  got  to  do  is  to  set  straight  an' 
look  laik  you  were  enjoyin*  youahself  'stead  o'  bein' 
half  daid." 

The  big  maverick,  stretched  by  the  Texan  at  one  end 
and  by  Phil  (who,  thus  promoted,  felt  that  at  last  he 
was  almost  on  a  par  with  Chet  and  the  other  cow- 
boys) at  the  other,  was  helpless.  Old  Jess,  seeing  that 
Gray  Jack,  with  Phil  on  his  back,  was  holding  the  two 
legs  securely,  grunted  and  descended  from  the  saddle, 
leaving  his  own  rope  lax.  Ford  was  making  the  fire ; 
and  soon  the  red  vagrant  was  given  the  mark  of  re- 
spectable society. 

Releasing  her  they  all  rode  away — Phil,  with  the 
air  of  a  veteran,  coiling  his  rope,  which  had  thus  been 
initiated. 

Unexpectedly  to  him  they  hove  in  sight  of  the 
wagon,  beyond  the  creek;  abruptly  the  little  company 
put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  away  they  went,  yap- 
ping like  Apaches,  in  a  wild  cowboy  race ;  Phil,  taken 
by  surprise,  plugging  along  in  the  dust  of  the  rear. 
They  splashed  recklessly  through  the  ford,  and  still 
at  hard  run  bore  down  upon  the  camp,  where  Pete  thei 
cook  was  grinning  from  under  his  broad  hat  at  tho 
sight.    They  pulled  up  sharply,  and  while  their  horses 


192 


BAR   B    BOYS 


were  yet  on  the  haunches  they  tumbled  to  earth,  loos- 
ened cinches,  shed  chaps,  and  were  at  ease. 

The  camp,  left  to  the  guardianship  of  Pete  all  the 
day,  had  visitors.  Phil  recognized  several  of  the  Car- 
bine group,  encountered  the  evening  before;  among 
them  was  Buck.  A  little  tremor  of  apprehension 
passed  through  him;  but  he  loosened  Gray  Jack's 
cinch,  doffed  his  chaps,  and  approached  the  wagon  to 
seek  his  ease.    He  felt  that  he  had  earned  it. 

The  visitors  looked  upon  him  curiously;  several 
nodded. 

"  There  he  is,  Buck,  if  you  want  him,''  remarked 
one,  slyly. 

Phil  hoped  that  there  was  to  be  no  more  trouble; 
he  was  so  tired.  But  as  Buck  leisurely  arose  he 
stood  his  ground. 

"  How,"  said  Buck,  gruffly,  eyeing  him. 

"  Hello,"  said  Phil. 

"  Not  mad,  are  yuh  ?  " 

"No.    It's  all  right,  is  it?" 

"  Sure,"  declared  Buck,  flushing.     "  Shake." 

Phil,  very  gladly,  and  much  relieved,  shook  hands. 

"  You'd  never  have  done  it,  if  yuh  hadn't  hit  me  so 
sudden  an'  knocked  me  over,"  defended  Buck,  seating 
himself  again,  and  composedly  rolling  a  cigarette. 

"  Maybe  not,"  responded  Phil,  also  sitting.  But  he 
had  his  private  opinion. 

And  thus  differences  were  adjusted. 

The  party  lolled,  relaxed  in  Various  postures, 
around  the  mess  wagon.  The  wearied  cow-horses 
stood  drooping  and  dozing  in  the  brush,  waiting  for 


BRANDING   THE   BIG    MAVERICK     193 

the  herd  to  come  in.  Pete  busied  himself  with  his 
dough  making  and  his  Dutch  ovens. 

*'  Grub  pi-i-ile,"  sighed  Haney,  softly,  who  had 
thrown  down  his  dusty  hat,  and  himself,  equally  dust- 
covered,  beside  it.  "  An*  pity  the  pore  cowboy.  Seems 
laik  I  smell  pie." 

"  Got  an  awful  good  smeller,  then,"  returned  Pete 
the  cook.  "  I  baked  them  pies  this  noon.  Traid  they 
ain't  much  good,  tho\  Reckon  you  fellers  must  be 
hungry.    Have  supper  in  a  minute,  now." 

And  this  time  not  a  voice  extravagantly  protested: 
"No  hurry,  Pete!" 

Regardless  of  Pete's  professional  diffidence,  the 
dried-apple  pie  baked  in  those  Dutch  ovens  proved  ex- 
cellent. But  to  Phil  the  best  thing  on  the  menu  was 
the  canned  tomatoes,  whose  pulp  and  juice,  poured 
into  a  tin  cup  and  drunk  therefrom,  were  as  nectar  to 
alkali-burned  mouth  and  throat.  Phil  never  would 
have  believed  that  common  canned  tomato  supped  out 
of  a  common  tin  cup  could  be  so  lusciously  good. 

Hombre  came  in  with  the  horse-herd  or  cavvy;  the 
Open  A  man  went  out  with  it.  Phil  was  thankful 
that  Old  Jess  had  not  assigned  him  to  a  night  watch 
— he,  Phil,  being  about  "  all  in." 

"  Get  enough  riding  to  hold  yuh  till  morning  ?  " 
queried  Mr.  Simms,  observing  him  stiffly  stagger  to 
his  feet. 

Phil  smiled;  he  could  not  deny.  And  glad  enough 
to  pull  off  his  boots,  yawning  scandalously  the  mean- 
time, he  early  put  himself  to  bed;  Chet  joining  him 
and  the  rest  of  the  camp  being  not  much  later. 


194 


BAR  B   BOYS 


Not  until  he  was  lying  snug  and  comfortable  amidst 
the  coverings,  upon  the  hard  ground,  did  the  message 
of  the  arroyo  occur  to  him — and  Chet's  note  found 
in  the  brush. 

He  gave  an  explosive  little  exclamation. 

"  What'smatter,"  murmured  Chet,  drowsily. 

"We  never  said  anything  about  the  signs  and  that 
note  ! " 

"  She's  'way  off  now,"  murmured  Chet. 

But  drifting  into  slumber,  Phil  resolved  that  the  ap- 
peal should  not  pass  unheeded.  The  girl  should  be 
succored,  and  if  possible  those  villains,  the  man  with 
one  eye,  the  man  with  the  limp,  and  the  man  with 
the  frozen  smile,  be  brought  to  book. 

So  again  the  round-up  camp  slept.  And  the  cat- 
tle, likewise  wearied,  about  the  water-hole,  they,  also, 
no  doubt,  slept ;  old  cow,  baby  calf,  bachelor  steer  and 
lordly  bull  recking  naught  of  the  morrow,  servants 
all  to  the  pitiless  law  of  the  range. 


CHAPTER  XX 

PHIL    PROVES    HIMSELF 

To  Phil  It  seemed  that  scarcely  had  he  closed  his 
eyes  when  he  was  being  obliged  to  rise  again,  and 
start  upon  another  day.  With  yawns  and  grunts  and 
interchange  of  jocularities,  in  the  frosty  pink  of  the 
dawn  the  camp  dragged  itself  from  bed  and  gathered 
at  the  cook's  fire.  Some  keen  glances  were  cast  upon 
himself,  as  if  critically  appraising  his  condition;  and 
he  endeavored  to  bear  himself  jauntily  and  tried  hard 
not  to  limp.  He  hoped  that  he  did  not  look  as  he 
felt — generally  stiff  and  drawn  and  burned,  and,  in 
particular  spots,  sore.  He  did  not  comprehend,  yet, 
that  the  men  read  him  (or  thought  they  read  him) 
like  a  book  of  brands;  and  he  was  ignorant  that  his 
eyes  were  blood-shot  and  inflamed,  and  tell-tale  by 
themselves  alone.  He  thought  that  he  caught  refer- 
ence to  his  name  between  Old  Jess  and  Mr.  Simms: 
but  nobody  addressed  him  otherwise  than  casually;  so 
he  paid  no  attention  except  to  his  own  business,  which 
was  the  proper  thing  to  do. 

"  Boy,"  said  Mr.  Simms,  after  breakfast,  while  the 
horse-herd  was  approaching,  "  there  won't  be  much 
doing  to-day.  A  couple  of  us  will  shove  that  bunch 
we  got  yesterday  a  few  miles  up  the  country,  and 
there'll  be  a  little  gathering  in  some  o'  the  pockets 

195 


196 


BAR   B    BOYS 


we  missed  in  the  circle.  How'd  you  like  to  stay 
'round  camp  and  help  the  cook  a  bit?  " 

Phil's  face  fell,  but*  he  answered  promptly : 

"  All  right.     If  you  and  Jess  think  I'd  better." 

"The  cook  needs  somebody  to  fetch  him  wood," 
continued  Mr.  Simms,  hesitantly.  "  You  did  your  rid- 
ing yesterday,  and  to-day'll  be  about  the  same  thing, 
only,  less  so.  The  roundup's  young,  yet,  and  you'll 
get  plenty  of  it  'fore  you  quit.  And  in  the  higher 
country  you'll  enjoy  it  more.  These  are  nothing  but 
the  bad  lands." 

"Yes;  if  I  can  do  anything  I'll  stay  in  camp. 
Sure,"  assented  Phil,  now  rallying  from  his  disap- 
pointment. 

"  Good,"  approved  the  cattleman.  "  There  isn't 
anybody'll  think  less  of  you  for  it.  It's  all  in  the 
roundup  work,  to  do  what  you're  asked  to  do.  Every 
little  helps.    What  hawss  you  going  to  ride  to-day?  " 

"Will  I  need  a  horse?" 

"  Sure.  Save  out  a  hawss  to  snake  the  wood  with. 
You  may  want  him,  anyhow;  and  it'll  be  too  late  af- 
ter the  herd's  gone  out  again." 

"  Medicine  Eye,  then.  It's  his  turn,"  and  Phil 
brightened,  for  he  had  feared  being  that  disconsolate 
creature,  a  cowboy  relegated  to  foot  duty. 

"You  rope  him,  or  I?" 

"  I'll  rope  him,"  declared  Phil. 

And  so  he  did,  at  the  first  throw;  Medicine  Eye, 
a  long-legged  bay  with  an  eye  walled  (whence  his 
name),  and  further  distinguished  by  a  split  ear,  oblig- 
ingly standing  quietly  on  the  outside  of  the  herd. 


PHIL    PROVES    HIMSELF  197 

This  was  quite  a  morning  for  "  uncorking  "  horses, 
no  less  than  three  animals  bucking  and  racing  through 
the  brush,  carrying  their  hard-sitting  riders,  while 
the  camp  applauded.  Phil  fervently  hoped  that  Medi- 
cine Eye  would  not  be  infected  by  the  examples, 
for  he  could  buck,  could  Medicine  Eye;  everybody 
said  so. 

Having  saddled  him  and  tethered  him  to  a  clump 
of  sage,  Phil  watched  the  camp,  Chet  and  all,  save  the 
cook,  ride  away;  and  the  satisfaction  that  he  was  not 
obliged  to  try  out  Medicine  Eye  before  them  helped 
him  to  endure  being  left  behind. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do  first,  Pete.^"  he 
asked,  turning. 

"  If  Pm  goin'  to  make  up  a  mess  o'  bear-sign.  Pit 
have  to  have  more  wood.  Got  to  have  it  anyway,'' 
blurted  Pete,  gruffly,  seeming  to  be  not  in  the  best 
of  humors. 

"All  right.    Whafs  bear-sign?" 

"Oh,  doughnuts,  fried  cakes,  whatever  yuh  call 
'em  out  East." 

Phil  proceeded  to  Medicine  Ejre. 

"  Where  do  I  get  the  wood  ?  "  he  ventured. 

Pete  snorted. 

''Get  it?  You  know  wood  when  yuh  see  it,  don't 
yuh?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Phil,  meekly. 

"  Well,  those  hills  yonder  are  full  of  it.  Put  yore 
rope  on  a  bunch  of  it  an'  snake  it  back.  That's  all 
yuh  got  to  do." 

Phil  threw  the  lines  over  Medicine  Eye's  head,  and 


198 


BAR   B    BOYS 


laid  a  foot  in  the  stirrup,  to  mount.  He  paused  ap- 
prehensively. Medicine  Eye  appeared  to  shrink,  at 
the  movement,  and  stood  curiously  humped,  his  walled 
optic  rolling  back  just  a  mere  flicker.    So  Phil  paused. 

"  Goin'  to  buck,  ain't  he  ?  "  addressed  Pete,  cheer- 
fully, from  his  dishwashing  by  the  fire. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  guess  not,"  averred  Phil,  in  an 
uncertain  voice. 

"  Sorter  humpy,  jus*  the  same,"  persisted  Pete,  not 
at  all  reassuring.  "  Get  on  him  quick.  Wouldn't 
give  him  much  time  to  think." 

His  heart  in  his  mouth  Phil  desperately  swung 
aboard. 

"  Ought  to  have  cheeked  him,"  decreed  Pete, 
watching. 

Medicine  Eye  did  not  budge.  He  stood  ominously 
humped;  when  Phil  landed  in  the  saddle  he  had 
slightly  cringed,  that  is  all. 

"Well,  reckon  you'll  have  to  stick  him.  Hold  up 
his  head  an'  stick  him.  Can't  set  there  all  day.  1 
need  some  wood,"  directed  Pete,  ruthlessly. 

Taking  a  deep  breath  and  still  far  from  confident, 
Phil  gathered  short  rein,  and  modestly  touched  Medi- 
cine Eye  underneath  with  the  spur ;  and  clucked. 

"  Gwan." 

With  oddly  stiff,  jolty,  abbreviated  steps  Medicine 
Eye  rebelliously  moved  through  the  brush. 

"  Aw,  he  ain't  goin'  to  buck,"  called  Pete.  "  He's 
changed  his  mind.    Here's  the  ax." 

Ax  across  shoulder,  Phil,  greatly  relieved  by  the 
outcome  of  events,  rode  athwart  the  flat,  for  a  sparsely 


PHIL    PROVES    HIMSELF  199 

tiLibered  knoll  half  a  mile  distant.  Medicine  Eye  still 
moved  gingerly,  as  if  not  quite  sure  of  himself,  but 
his  rider  boldly  spurred  him  into  a  gallop. 

Collecting  a  pile  of  the  dry  boughs  and  dead  trunks, 
having  knocked  off  the  smaller  side  branches,  Phil 
tightened  his  loop  about  a  compact  bundle  and  re- 
turned, gloriously  dragging  it  from  his  saddle-horn,  to 
Pete. 

Pete  viewed  it  with  disgust. 

"What  do  yuh  call  that?"  he  demanded. 

"Wood,"  said  Phil.     "Why?" 

Pete  kicked  the  bundle  contemptuously  apart  with 
his  foot,  scattering  it. 

"  Wood,"  he  snorted,  sourly.  "  An*  not  a  stick  in 
it  that  a  man  can  burn.  If  I  was  some  cooks  an'  you 
brought  me  a  mess  o'  pifion  to  soot  the  camp  up  with, 
I'd  chase  you  off  the  ground  with  a  six-shooter.  Ain't 
there  no  cedar  over  there  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  stammered  Phil,  astonished. 

"Well,  you  put  in  yore  time  on  that.  An'  don't 
you  ever  again  insult  no  roundup  cook  by  fetchin' 
him  pitch-pine  when  he  wants  wood!  Hurry  up;  I 
got  this  bear-sign  to  bake,  'fore  noon." 

Crestfallen,  Phil  rode  back  to  the  knoll;  and  be- 
hind him,  at  the  mess  wagon,  the  cook  grumbled, 
disgruntled,  giving  forth  caustic  remarks  on  the  "  fool 
tenderfoot  who  fetched  pifion  when  he  was  tol'  to  get 
wood! " 

Medicine  Eye  had  steadied  into  ordinary  horse 
manner,  and  had  objected  not  at  all  to  hauling  the 
bundle  of  pifion,  nor  was  he  objecting  now  to  hauling 


200 


BAR   B    BOYS 


its  successor,  the  bundle  of  cedar,  bouncing  and  tum- 
bling along  in  the  rear.  But  when  almost  at  the  lire 
the  bundle  caught  fast  in  the  brush. 

"Come  along.  Pull  her  loose,  an'  come  along. 
I  can't  wait  all  day,"  bade  Pete,  the  despot.  "  Fire's 
most  out,  already." 

Phil  spurred  Medicine  Eye,  the  rope  drew  taut, 
strained,  and  with  a  sudden  snapping  the  bundle  tore 
loose,  to  hurtle  forward  and  land  under  Medicine 
Eye's  rear  cinch.  An  up-projecting  stick  prodded  him 
in  the  tenderness  of  his  stomach — and  with  an  af- 
frighted jump  and  grunt  he  was  off. 

"  Hi !  Ki  yi ! "  yelled  Pete,  also  electrified.  "  Now 
he's  buckin'.  Hang  to  him,  kid.  Hold  up  his  head 
— hold  up  his  head !  " 

For  Medicine  Eye,  totally  abandoning  his  pacific 
mien,  was  gyrating  wildly.  Down  was  his  head,  up 
was  his  back,  curved  was  his  tail,  and  thud,  thud, 
grunt,  grunt,  he  hopped  through  the  brush. 

Alarmed  and  amazed  at  the  violent  change  in  his 
charger,  Phil  could  only  cling  desperately.  Jerk, 
jerk,  jerk  he  went,  the  oscillations  of  the  earthquake 
saddle  almost  snapping  his  head  from  his  neck. 

"  Pull  leather,  but  stay  with  him !  "  shrieked  Pete. 
"  Get  the  motion !    Get  the  motion !    Don't  fight  it !  " 

Amidst  his  terrific  jouncing  Phil  tried  to  collect 
himself,  to  remember  all  that  he  had  heard  in  respect 
to  riding  a  "bad  hawss,"  and  to  put  it  into  prac- 
tice, now  at  his  need.  But  his  ideas  were  being  jolted 
together,  and  mixed. 

**  Grip  with  yore  thighs."     "  Ride  loose."     "  Best 


PHIL    PROVES    HIMSELF  201 

rider  ever  I  saw  rode  as  if  he  was  unjointed."  "  Ketch 
yore  spurs  in  his  cinch.  That's  the  way  I  do."  These 
fragments  of  conversation,  shaken  to  the  surface, 
submerged  again,  were  succeeded  by  others. 

Away  shot  Phil's  hat;  his  left  foot  lost  the  stir- 
rup, and  he  hung,  sprawled  sideways,  half  off.  The 
end  was  near.  But  a  lucky  bounce  righted  him  again. 
At  the  very  first  leap  his  rope  had  slipped  from  the 
horn,  and  the  bundle  of  cedar  was  somewhere  in  the 
brush. 

"  Hey  !  Where  the  dickens  yuh  headin'  ? "  ex- 
postulated Pete.  "  Turn  him.  Confound  you,  look 
what  you're  doin'  now !  " 

He  fled,  but  from  his  safe  vantage  the  other  side 
of  the  wagon  he  continued  to  berate.  Into  the  kitchen 
had  lurched  Medicine  Eye,  and  was  plunging,  re- 
gardless, there.  Over  rolled  Dutch  ovens,  a  kick  sent 
the  coffee-pot  flying,  the  pails  sped  helter  skelter,  and 
at  the  touch  of  hoof  the  mess  box  distributed  "  reload- 
ing tools  "  far  and  wide. 

"Get  out  o'  there!"  yelled  Pete,  frantic.  "Ain't 
yuh  got  no  sense,  either  of  yuh  ?  " 

Now  Phil's  right  foot  was  out  of  the  stirrup. 
And  as  incited  to  fresh  endeavors  by  the  rattle  of 
kitchen-ware  under  his  hoofs.  Medicine  Eye,  snorting, 
jumped  yet  higher,  his  rider,  flung  from  him  at  ^ 
tangent,  landed  in  a  tall  bush  of  greasewood. 

Medicine  Eye,  lightened  of  the  weight,  instantly 
ceased  his  spasm  and,  as  if  ashamed,  mildly  looked 
about  him. 

Pete  left  his  retreat  and  advanced  into  the  open. 


202 


BAR    B   BOYS 


"Hurt  yuh?"  he  asked 

Phil  had  picked  himself  up,  and  was  feeling  hii 
face,  somewhat  scratched. 

"No,"  he  said.  "  ;Where*s  my  hat,  I  wonder. 
Didn't  he  buck,  though !  " 

"Who?  That  hawss?  He  didn't  buck,"  retorted 
the  cook,  scornfully.  "Don't  call  that  buckin',  do 
yuh? 

"  Trouble  is,"  continued  Pete,  "  you  can't  ride. 
Yuh  sit  like  a  sack  o'  potatoes.  An'  look  what  yuh 
done  to  my  camp,  too!  Pots  an'  pails  kicked  all 
to  pieces  an'  a  whole  batch  o'  bear-sign  spoiled.  Darn 
yuh!  Yuh  ought  to  had  yore  head  busted.  Where's 
that  hawss  ?  I'll  take  all  the  buck  out  o'  him!  That's 
what  comes  o'  havin'  a  tenderfoot  in  a  roundup  camp. 
Never  see  one  yet  that  wasn't  better  off  where  ha 
belonged,  at  home." 

Thus  scolding,  Pete  strode  wrathfully  to  Medicine 
Eye  and  grabbing  him  by  the  bit  led  him  roughly  out. 

"  I'll  give  yuh  somethin'  to  buck  for,"  he  declared. 
"  Butt  in  on  my  ovens,  will  yuh  ?  Step  in  my  coffee 
pot,  will  yuh?  An'  dump  dough  all  over  the  sage 
brush !  When  I'm  on  yore  back  you'll  wish  yuh  could 
lay  down  somewheres  and  die!  I've  forked  buckin' 
hawsses  before." 

Grasping  the  bridle  at  the  cheek  strap,  and  twist- 
ing Medicine  Eye's  head  rudely  in  toward  him,  he 
vaulted  into  the  saddle. 

"  Now  go  it  !  "  he  ordered.  "  What  yuh  standin' 
for?     Go  it." 

But  Medicine  Eye's  brief  fit  was  over.     He  had 


PHIL   PROVES    HIMSELF  203 

wearied  of  his  program,  as  abruptly  ended  as  be- 
gun, and  he  was  good  horse  again.  Perhaps,  as 
alleged,  he  was  ashamed.  As  if  bewildered  by  the 
strenuosity  of  his  new  rider  he  cantered  a  few  ten- 
tative  steps. 

"Go  it,  blame  yuh!  Buck!  Yuh  bucked  with  a 
man  who  couldn't  ride;  now  buck  with  a  man  who 
can!  Yuh  got  the  real  thing  on  yore  back — a  buster 
from  Busterville.  When  he  ain't  bustin'  he  cooks; 
but  mostly  he's  bustin'!  Whoopee!  I'll  teach  yuh 
to  run  over  my  Dutch  ovens  an'  good  dough ! " 

On  this  side  and  on  that  Pete  slapped  him  across 
the  face  with  broad  hat,  and  the  while  prodded  him 
with  his  heels. 

"  Take  up  the  back  cinch,"  called  Phil. 

Pete  leaned  and  jerked  at  the  cinch.  As  if  he  were 
a  trick  horse  and  this  were  a  signal.  Medicine  Eye, 
loath  no  more,  commenced  indeed  to  perform.  Away 
he  went,  bucking,  over  the  brush;  and  rocking  in  the 
saddle  Pete  yelped  with  glee. 

"  Buck  !  "  he  urged,  slapping  with  the  hat.  "  You 
ain't  buckin' !     You — whoa-oa,  Emma !  " 

Exasperated  by  the  continual  nagging  Medicine 
Eye  now  at  last  opened  up.  He  bucked;  he  pitched 
so  violently  that  twice  he  almost  fell  backward,  and 
Pete  swung  loose,  preparatory;  he  squealed  and  shook 
his  head,  and  tore  hither  and  thither.  Pete's  hat  no 
longer  slapped  him — for  the  hat  had  gone  to  join 
Phil's.  Pete  no  longer  urged  him  on — for  urging 
would  be  superfluous.  Pete  no  longer  yelped  with 
derision — for  Pete's  breath  was  becoming  too  precious 


204 


BAR   B    BOYS 


to  be  wasted.  But  well  and  stoutly  rode  Pete,  ex- 
puncher,  sometime  cook,  and  had  not  Medicine  Eye, 
dashing  at  full  speed  for  the  creek,  on  the  bank  set 
his  fore-feet  and  abruptly  stopped  short,  Pete  might 
have  been  riding  there  yet.  As  it  was,  he  left  the 
saddle  and  head-first  proceeded  over  Medicine  Eye's 
ears,  with  a  mighty  plash  entering  the  water  below. 

Not  knowing  whether  to  laugh  or  to  sympathize 
Phil  ran  to  the  rescue.  When  he  gazed  from  the 
bank  he  was  frightened.  At  this  point,  the  current, 
muddy  and  sluggish,  flowed  ominously  smooth.  Evi- 
dently the  creek  was  deep  here.  And  there  was  no 
token  of  Pete ! 

Phil  hastily  kicked  off  his  chaps  and  tugged  at 
his  boots,  all  the  time  keeping  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the 
surface  of  the  thick  flow. 

Aha !  A  swirl  in  the  water,  and  the  sight  of  Peter's 
ashy,  streaming  face  and  staring  eyes ! 

Phil  hesitated  not  an  instant,  but  plunged  in.  Ugh ! 
The  surprisingly  cold  fluid  took  his  breath  away  as 
he  soused  under,  and  as  he  rose  to  the  surface  again 
he  gasped  convulsively.  He  had  no  stomach ;  no  room 
to  inhale,  either;  and  fighting  to  start  his  lungs  he 
drew  short,  shuddering  whiffs  of  the  life-giving 
oxygen.  But  he  must  not  think  of  himself.  He  was 
here  for  Pete;  and  as  he  raised  high  and  peered 
along  the  stream  he  again  saw  Pete's  agonized  coun- 
tenance, amidst  a  great  threshing  of  arms.  Forgetting 
his  own  sensations  of  pain  he  frantically  struck  out 
for  the  spot. 

Groping  with  legs  and  hands  presently  he  encoun- 


PHIL    PROVES   HIMSELF  205 

tered  a  soft,  yielding  object,  and  his  fingers  closed 
upon  it.  At  the  same  time  his  feet  touched  bottom; 
and  also  at  the  same  time  Pete,  who  evidently  enough 
was  not  yet  unconscious,  returned  the  grasp  with  in- 
terest by  clutching  him  tightly  and  literally  claw- 
ing a  way  along  his  person  to  the  surface. 

They  stood  front  to  front;  Pete  holding  on,  for 
dear  life,  and  coughing  raucously,  strangled  as  he  was ; 
Phil  gradually  sinking  deeper  and  deeper,  held  by  the 
cook's  weight  and  his  own. 

"  Let  go  of  me !  "  he  ordered.  "  YouVe  all  right 
now.  We're  on  bottom.  Let  go  of  me.  We're 
sinking.     You're  drowning  both  of  us." 

"  Ugh !  Ugh !  Ugh !  "  coughed  Pete,  and  essay- 
ing to  hoist  himself  farther  inch  by  inch  as  inch  by 
inch  Phil  settled. 

"  You'll  drown  us  both !  "  protested  Phil,  angrily, 
pushing  him  away,  and  trying  to  wrench  loose. 

"  No,  no !  Oh,  no,  no !  "  gurgled  Pete,  whom  the 
unpleasant  word  "  drown "  set  off  into  a  panic  re- 
newed.    "Hold  me  up.     Ugh!    Ugh!" 

The  water  rose  to  Phil's  lips  and  he  tilted  his 
chin ;  past  his  nose,  and  under  he  went,  Pete  fatuously 
clinging  to  him  like  a  squirrel  to  a  piece  of  bark. 

In  the  icy,  suffocating  depths  they  floundered;  and 
still  grappled  they  came  up  again.  The  water  here 
was  only  chest-deep — Phil's  chest.  They  were  at  the 
edge  of  a  little  island;  and  Phil  staggered  up  on  it, 
the  coughing  cook  hanging  to  his  neck. 

"Now  let  go,  can't  you!"  bade  Phil,  out  of  pa- 
tience.   "  You  can't  drown  here! " 


206 


BAR   B    BOYS 


Pete  opened  his  eyes,  and  stared  affrighted  about 
him.  Reluctantly  he  loosened  his  clutch;  Phil  by  an 
impatient  jerk  shook  him  off  entirely. 

"  You  ought  not  to  hang  on  like  that,  when  a 
fellow's  trying  to  help  you.  You  keep  him  from 
doing  anything,"  rebuked  Phil,  as  hotly  as  possible 
for  anybody  so  cold. 

"  I  sure  thought  I  was  a  goner,"  confessed  Pete. 
"Ugh!    Ugh!" 

"Well,  come  on." 

"  Where  you  goin*  ?  "  asked  Pete. 

"  Ashore.    We  can  wade  it." 

"  She  looks  deep.  Dam  that  hawss !  Say,  wait 
a  minute." 

"  No.  I'm  freezing.  You  can  wade  where  I  can, 
I  should  think,"  and  Phil,  with  this  sarcastic  prod, 
started. 

"  Go  slow.  Fm  right  behind.  But  Fd  feel  a  heap 
safer  if  somebody  had  a  rope  on  me.    Ugh !    Ugh !  " 

The  water  was  only  waist-high,  and  plowing 
through  it,  Pete  breathing  hard  and  fearfully,  they 
clambered  up  the  bank.  Now  in  the  air  and  slight 
breeze,  warm  though  the  sun  was,  their  teeth  chat- 
tered, their  bodies  shook. 

"  B-by  th-thunder,  that  was  a  n-narrow  squeak," 
asserted  Pete.    "  Did  you  jump  in  after  me?" 

"Why,  y-yes,"  said  Phil.  "But  I  d-didn't  need 
t-to.    It  wasn't  over  y-your  head." 

"  W-wasn't  maybe  if  I  h-hadn't  b-been  wrong  side 
up.  Darned  hawss  d-didn't  give  me  n-no  chance. 
You  p-peel  off  them  clothes.     Got  s-some  others  ?" 


PHIL   PROVES   HIMSELF  207 

"  Yes.    P-peel  off  your  own." 

"  Goin'  to.  But  I  ain*t  had  pneumony.  You  have. 
Ugh!     Burr!" 

"  Oh,  Jiminy,  but  we're  sights ! "  laughed  Phil, 
suddenly  hilarious  as  he  stripped  by  the  wagon. 
"  Mud  bath." 

"  Swallowed  so  much  my  lungs  are  all  bogged 
down,"  grumbled  Pete,  likewise  stripping.  "  Never 
will  get  'em  out.  Great  Henry,  boy !  "  he  exclaimed 
abruptly,  eying  Phil.  "What  are  those  things  on 
yuh?" 

"  Saddle  sores,  I  guess." 

"  Saddle  sores!  Well,  if  you  ain't  branded  proper 
I'm  a  greaser!     Don't  they  hurt  yuh?" 

"  Some." 

"  Humph !  I  take  off  my  hat  to  yuh.  A  man  who'll 
set  on  those  an'  never  say  a  word  has  certainly  got 
grit,  for  a  tenderfoot." 

"  They'll  wear  off,"  alleged  Phil,  embarrassed. 

"  Got  to,"  agreed  Pete.  "  Well,"  he  sighed,  "  mebbe 
yuh  can't  ride  like  yuh  ought  to,  but  you're  wise 
to  the  water.  I  can  ride,  but  I'm  plumb  locoed  when 
I  get  in  water."  He  was  almost  dressed,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  spread  out  his  soggy  clothing  on  the  bushes. 
"  Yuh  might  fetch  in  that  wood,  now,"  he  directed. 
"  I'm  goin'  to  build  some  more  bear-sign." 

Phil  went  to  Medicine  Eye,  who  was  standing  half 
asleep,  and  prepared  to  mount.  Pete,  picking  up  his 
precious  hat,  out  of  a  corner  of  his  eye  observed. 

"  Think  you'll  give  him  another  whirl,  eh  ?  " 

"  Might  as  well,"  declared  Phil,  with  a  confidence 


208 


BAR   B    BOYS 


which  surprised  himself.  "  Got  to  have  wood,  haven't 
we?  I'm  not  going  to  pack  it  clear  in  through  the 
brush  on  foot." 

"  I  guess  he  won't  make  any  more  trouble,  if  he 
ain't  teched  under  his  belly,"  and  as  if  dismissing 
past  events  entirely  Pete  turned  his  back,  to  work. 
But  in  his  gruffness  and  apparent  unconcern  Phil  fan- 
cied there  lay  a  note  of  approval,  again. 

Medicine  Eye  was  now  as  docile  and  willing  as 
the  staidest  of  old  cow-horses.  The  wood  (cedar!) 
was  snaked  without  mishap — Phil  being  wary  of  tres- 
pass on  his  mount's  back-cinch  region — and  the  new 
batch  of  bear-sign  was  committed  to  the  ovens.  When 
the  camp  for  the  first  time  assembled  at  dinner  the 
delicacy  was  ready. 

Little  by  little  Pete  divulged  the  events  of  the 
morning. 

"  Mebbe  he  can't  ride,  yet,  but  he's  sure  wised  to 
the  water,"  he  insisted,  magnanimously.  "Jumped 
right  in,  he  did."     And  he  wagged  his  big  hat. 

"  That's  more  than  any  man  in  camp  would  do," 
averred  Mr.  Simms,  with  tone  positive.  "  Unless  it's 
Ford.     You  swim,  boy?" 

"  Of  course,"  blushed  Phil. 

"  Then  I  reckon  you  and  Ford  are  the  only  people 
in  this  whole  country  who  can.  And  Ford's  forgot- 
ten, ain't  yuh,  Ford?" 

"  Shouldn't  wonder.  I'd  probably  try  to  rope  any- 
body out  like  the  rest  of  you,"  said  Ford,  good- 
naturedly. 

"  Gee,  wish  I  could  swim,"  quoth  Chet,  with  open 


PHIL   PROVES   HIMSELF  209 

envy.  "  But  there  ain't  any  place  to  learn,  in  the 
mountains.     Water's  too  cold." 

"  'Fraid  o'  snaiks,  daown  in  Texas  where  I  was 
raised,"  declared  Haney. 

Phil  endeavored  not  to  be  over-proud. 

"  I  didn't  have  to  swim  more  than  a  few  strokes," 
he  explained.    "  It  wasn't  over  our  heads." 

"Was  over  mine,"  insisted  Pete,  stubbornly; 
"'cause  I  went  in  that  end  fust  an'  got  to  millin' 
'round." 

Following  a  few  words  together,  after  dinner,  with 
Old  Jess,  Mr.  Simms  spoke  aside,  with  Phil. 

"  Pete  says  you've  got  saddle  welts  on  you  as  big 
as  his  finger.     How  are  they?     Pretty  sore?" 

"No,  sir;  I  can  stand  them,"  asserted  Phil,  de- 
termined not  to  let  anybody  be  concerned  about  him. 

"Good.  They'll  flatten  out,  after  a  bit.  How'd 
you  like  to  wrangle  hawsses,  for  a  while,  then?  Old 
Jess  thinks  you'll  do,  and  that  other  boy  hasn't  turned 
up,  yet." 

Phil's  face  fell.     He  preferred  being  a  cowboy. 

"There's  a  dollar  a  day  in  it,"  tempted  the  cattle- 
man, reading  his  countenance.  "You'll  be  regular 
on  the  pay-roll.  Better  try  it.  We  all  of  us  begun  by 
jinglin'  hawsses  at  the  roundup.  Chet  did,  Buster  did, 
so  did  Dick.     Besides,  we  got  to  have  somebody." 

"Yes,  sir.  I'll  do  it,  then,"  assented  Phil,  still 
not  overjoyed. 

"  Don't  think  it  isn't  a  full-size  job ;  because  it 
is,"  instructed  the  cattleman.  "  A  good  wrangler 
means  a  whole  lot  to  a  camp.     Get  the  hawsses  in 


2IO 


BAR   B    BOYS 


promptly  and  don't  lose  any  of  'em,  and  you'll  find 
we  all  appreciate  it.  This  lets  you  out  o'  night-hawk- 
ing, too.  If  you  herd  all  day  yuh  can  sleep  all  night 
— at  least,  till  four  or  five  o'clock.  The  herd's  com- 
ing, now.  You  can  go  back  out  with  it,  and  let 
Hombre  show  you  the  fine  points,  this  afternoon." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PHIL   MEETS    THE   ENEMY   AND   IS   THEIRS 

The  official  post  of  "  hawss  jingler  "  proved  after 
all  a  job  not  unpleasant  nor  to  be  sneezed  at.  It  con- 
sisted of  supervising  the  herd  from  early  dawn  until 
dusk — seeing  that  none  of  the  horses  strayed,  and 
that  all  were  brought  in  three  times  a  day  in  readi- 
ness for  the  camp  to  select  fresh  mounts. 

At  first  Phil  had  been  rather  staggered  when  he 
came  to  figure  upon  managing  alone  a  hundred  ani- 
mals loose  in  the  open  sage.  But  Hombre  instructed 
him. 

"You  not  need  watch  ever'one,  jus'  a  few,"  said 
Hombre,  his  white  teeth  flashing  as  he  talked  so 
earnestly.  "Dos  few  they  lead  off,  others  follow. 
Dat  ol'  white  mare  with  brown  colt — ^she  a  bad 
one.  All  time  sneakin'  ofY.  She  ought  be  hobbled. 
Mares,  they  the  worst,  always.  Watch  mares.  Horses 
follow  them,  ever'  time.  Ladies  fust,  jus'  as  with  us. 
That  ol'  white  mare  with  brown  colt,  an'  that  big 
roan  with  one  ear  busted  (her  name  Jack  Rabbit), 
an'  that  ol'  black  fool  with  star  on  forehead,  an' 
that  little  bay  Flying  U  man  brought,  with  Box  C 
brand  on  hip — dos  ones  all  bad  for  sneakin',  an' 
takin'  ever'  boss  they  can  get  with  'em.  When  I 
see  they  in  the  herd,  I  guess  nobody  gone,  an'  I 
lie  in  the  sage  and  sleep,  mebbe." 

211 


212  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  You  know  why  they  call  hoss-herd  'cavvy '  ?  '* 
inquired  Hombre,  next. 

"  No,"  answered  Phil.  "  I've  been  wondering." 

"  That  from  Mexican — my  language.  '  Caballada ' 
— eet  mean  hoss-herd,  too.  Americano  say  *  cavvy ' 
— what  you  call  'em — for  short.  Eet  *  remuda,'  down 
South." 

"  But  that  other's  a  Spanish  word,  isn't  it?"  sug- 
gested Phil. 

"  No,  no  !  "  Hombre  was  vehement.  "  Caballada ; 
eet  Mexican.  I  no  spik  Spanish.  All  Mexicano," 
he  asserted  proudly. 

Phil  wisely  did  not  argue. 

It  took  only  a  couple  of  days  for  him  to  know 
each  horse  in  the  herd.  There  were  ninety-three  when 
every  rider  in  camp  had  one  out.  This  included  the 
four  team-horses  used  on  the  wagon.  He  found 
that  Hombre  had  spoken  truly,  and  that  if  especial 
care  was  taken  of  the  ring-leaders  in  mischief,  the 
herd  stayed  together.  That  was  a  good  scheme.  The 
most  toilsome  part  was  rolling  out  in  the  frosty 
graying  just  at  the  approach  of  dawn,  when  even  the 
cook  scarcely  was  stirring;  and  sleepily  donning  gar- 
ments by  sense  of  touch,  to  stumble  through  the  dim 
brush,  stiffly  mount  the  waiting  horse,  in  the  cold 
saddle  ride  yawning  away,  and  rounding  up  the  herd 
grazing  and  groaning  amidst  the  lightening  sage  to 
bring  it  in  by  sunrise. 

Then,  relieved  that  every  horse  was  present,  he 
could  enjoy  his  cup  of  hot  coffee  and  his  other  break- 
fast, while  his  charges  were  in  the  rope  corral.    After 


1 


PHIL    MEETS    THE    ENEMY  213 

the  mounts  of  the  morning  were  caught,  his  own 
among  them,  out  he  drove  the  herd  again — glad 
enough,  all  left  of  it,  to  escape — and  putting  it  at 
pasture  in  a  convenient  draw  loafed  in  the  saddle 
or  upon  the  ground,  sun-warmed  and  comfortable, 
guarding.  Occasionally  he  must  make  a  dash  to  turn 
back  the  "  ol'  white  mare,"  or  the  Jack  Rabbit  mare, 
or  another  of  the  sisterhood ;  and  this  gave  a  spice  of 
excitement  to  his  solitary  vigil  under  the  broad  blue 
sky. 

At  noon,  or  when  the  sun  was  highest,  he  gath- 
ered his  charges  and  took  them  in  to  camp  again, 
if  they  were  to  be  needed,  and  at  sunset  did  the 
same.  After  he  had  placed  them  for  the  night  he 
could  return  to  bed. 

He  missed  the  companionship  of  Chet,  and  of  Haney 
and  Ford  and  the  rest;  but  he  was  doing  regular 
work,  and  actually  was  earning  wages.  He  was  a 
real  member  of  the  camp — albeit  nobody  had  ever 
spoken  very  complimentary  of  "  hawss  jingling  "  as  a 
profession. 

The  roundup  proceeded.  Phil  was  freed  from  the 
long,  dusty  rides  out,  and  the  plodding,  nerve-racking 
drives  in,  but  he  rather  envied  Chet  and  the  men  their 
burned,  weary  appearance,  as  he  saw  them  at  meals 
and  around  the  fire  in  the  evenings.  He  was  no 
"hawss  jingler,"  by  spirit;  not  he.  Like  Hombre  he 
was  merely  helping  out  until  the  genuine  wrangler 
turned  up.  He,  Phil,  was  cow-puncher  with  the  Bar 
B  outfit. 

The  country  at  this  end  of  the  Owl  Creek  range 


214  BAR   B    BOYS 

had  now  been  well  gone  over,  the  cattle  had  been 
pushed  on  up,  and  'twas  time  to  move  the  camp. 

"  We're  goin'  to  change  over  to  the  Big  Piney 
water-hole,  in  the  mornin',"  announced  Old  Jess,  to 
Phil.  "  You  can  have  Chet  to  help  yuh  take  the  herd. 
He  knows  the  country.  You  don't — ^an'  it's  a  two-man 
job,  anyway." 

Therefore,  the  next  morning,  the  horse  herd  was 
not  driven  out  again  to  pasture,  as  usual,  but  was  held 
in  the  rope  corral.  The  saddle  animals  and  the  pack 
animals  were  snaked  out,  the  beds  were  tied  on,  the 
men  good-naturedly  helped  Pete  with  his  wagon;  and 
soon  after  breakfast  the  camp  dispersed,  the  riders 
diverging  across  the  sage,  the  herd,  in  charge  of  Chet 
and  Phil,  with  Pete  and  his  four-horse  equipage  be- 
hind, following  a  trail.  And  the  rendezvous  was,  as 
said,  the  Big  Piney  water-hole — though  where  that 
lay,  Phil  had  no  idea. 

But  Chet  and  Pete  had.  This  sagy,  rolling  coun- 
try with  scarcely  a  land-mark  in  it — mesa  resembling 
mesa,  and  shaly  hill  resembling  shaly  hill — was  as 
varied  and  as  familiar  to  them  as  is  city  or  town  to 
anybody  living  there.  Over  yonder  was  the  water- 
hole,  and  they  knew  exactly  the  way  to  it  without 
looking  for  numbers  or  landmarks,  nor  counting  blocks 
nor  turns. 

The  herd  drove  at  a  free  pace,  stringing  out  along 
the  dusty  road,  now  breaking  into  a  trot  as  the  two 
boys  pressed  the  rear  and  the  motion  was  communi- 
cated through  to  the  van,  and  now  slackening  to  a 
walk. 


PHIL    MEETS    THE    ENEMY  215 

Glad  were  Phil  and  Chet  to  be  together  again.  As 
they  rode  they  chatted  like  old  pardners  of  the  range 
re-united.  Presently,  glancing  back  at  Pete  who  with 
his  heavy  wagon  had  been  dropping  further  and  fur- 
ther behind,  Phil  exclaimed: 

"Where's  he  going?" 

For  the  cook  was  striking  off  on  his  own  hook, 
into  the  sage. 

"  He's  making  a  short  cut,  to  hit  the  trail  again 
ahead  of  us,"  declared  Chet.  "  But  I  know  a  shorter 
one.  Wait.  We'll  fool  him,  and  beat  him  into  camp, 
easy." 

Pete  obliqued  into  a  shallow  draw  and  gradually 
disappeared.  The  boys  continued  on  along  the  road. 
They  traveled  briskly.  The  country  became  rougher, 
rim-rock  and  steep  little  hills,  bouldered  and  timbered 
with  squat  cedar,  hedging  the  way  on  either  hand. 
But  the  road  followed  a  slightly  rolling  course,  be- 
tween. 

After  some  five  miles,  Chet  ordered: 

"  Turn  'em  up  here." 

Galloping  from  the  flank  Phil  headed  the  herd 
and  directed  the  leaders  up  the  sharp,  loosely-graveled 
incline  at  the  right;  snorting  and  jostling  and  scram- 
bling the  horses  made  the  ascent.  The  top  was  level. 
A  single  trail  led  across  it,  through  the  cedars  and 
the  pinons,  and  this  they  followed. 

"  Pete  couldn't  get  up  here  with  the  wagon," 
chuckled  Chet,  delighted  at  the  prospect.  "  He  thinks 
he's  smart,  but  we'll  fool  him." 

"  How  far  is  the  Big  Piney  now  ? "  asked  Phil. 


2l6 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  About  fifteen  mile,  straight  across  this  mesa. 
This  is  the  old  Ute  trail.  It  reaches  clear  across 
the  State,  from  Wyoming  down  into  New  Mexico." 

"  ^Tisn't  the  trail  Chief  Billy  was  taking,  with  me, 
is  it?" 

"No.  He  was  going  into  Utah.  The  Uintah 
trail's  different.  This  is  the  big  trail  for  hunting  and 
war  parties.    But  they  don't  use  it  much,  any  more." 

Phil  might  have  enjoyed  the  romance  of  fol- 
lowing this  old  enduring  bridle  path  over  which  had 
passed  during  so  many  years  the  Indian  upon  hunt 
or  foray  bent;  but  he  had  much  else  to  occupy  his 
thoughts. 

"  Aw,  what  yuh  doin' !  "  shouted  Chet,  at  the  herd. 
"  Red  Bird !  Get  out  o'  there !  Ring !  Sukie !  "  He 
explained  wrathfully  to  Phil.  "  They  try  to  rub  their 
packs  off  by  squeezing  between  two  trees,  and  scrap- 
ing under  branches.  Look  at  that?  Red  Bird's  torn 
my  tarp!     Watch  'em." 

The  trail  led  through  a  stretch  of  large  cedars 
and  pifions  thickly  set.  The  very  spirit  of  mischief 
seemed  to  have  pervaded  the  herd.  The  horses  spread 
out,  and  went  racing  and  kicking  amidst  the  trees, 
the  pack  animals  astutely  rubbing  their  packs  against 
everything  available.  Both  Phil  and  Chet  had  their 
hands  full,  riding  flank  and  rear;  reproving,  coercing, 
galloping  forward  and  galloping  back,  seeing  that 
no  member  was  left,  and  that  the  packs  stayed  in 
place. 

The  old  white  mare  and  her  brown  colt  were  on 
Phil's  side,  and  persistently  gave  him  trouble.     They 


PHIL    MEETS    THE    ENEMY  217 

edged  more  and  more  to  the  outskirts,  and  presently 
he  would  glimpse  them  making  away,  at  an  angle, 
through  the  tree  trunks,  slavishly  accompanied  by 
half  a  dozen  willing  satellites.  Whereupon,  spurring 
out  and  hallooing,  back  he  would  turn  them  into  the 
column  again.  Ah,  twain  pests  they  were,  that  old 
white  mother  and  her  lanky  brown  boy. 

There  they  went  once  more,  trotting  determinedly 
off  at  a  tangent  with  the  main  body,  on  an  independent 
course  in  quest  of  the  unknown  lying  to  the  right. 
His  keen  eyes  roving  hither  and  thither,  Phil  sighted 
them;  and  spurring  Gray  Jack  he  dashed  recklessly 
through  the  cedars,  to  foil  the  plot. 

Away  loped  the  white  mare  and  brown  colt,  with 
four  others  whom  they  had  inveigled;  and  hard  pur- 
sued Phil,  swinging  out  in  order  to  cut  ahead  of  them. 

With  crackle,  crash  and  shout  on  they  raced,  thirty 
yards  apart,  Gray  Jack  and  the  white  mischief-maker, 
the  trees  intervening.  This  time  the  truant  band  was 
proving  most  stubborn. 

Faster  pressed  Phil.  It  was  a  test  of  wills,  and  he 
had  to  keep  on  now,  after  his  first  attempt.  Out  they 
all  sped  together,  Phil  dismayed  but  undaunted,  Gray 
Jack  grunting  with  eagerness,  the  truants  evidently 
enjoying  themselves;  out  from  the  thicker  cedars,  and 
up  a  sloping  swale  well  grassed  and  thinly  timbered, 
with  ledgy  shelves  protruding.  Something  jumped 
up  with  an  explosive  quickness  from  beside  a  boulder 
right  under  Gray  Jack's  nose  and  went  bounding  off, 
flashing  white  rump.  It  was  a  deer,  the  first  that 
Phil    ever   had    seen    wild.     Involuntarily    he  pulled 


2l8 


BAR   B    BOYS 


Gray  Jack  short,  to  gaze  admiringly.  Amidst  the 
grass  and  ledges  a  snappy,  flat  report  rang  out,  and 
the  bounding  creature  pitched  forward,  to  lie  kicking. 
A  man  on  horseback,  whom  Phil  had  not  noted  be- 
fore, came  riding  down,  from  opposite  the  fallen  ani- 
mal. Phil  trotted  over,  curious — a  glance  showing 
him  that  the  old  white  mare  and  her  followers  had 
halted  and  were  grazing.  He  would  have  a  look  at 
the  deer,  and  then  riding  on  would  turn  his  squad  of 
truants.  The  man  had  dismounted  and  was  cutting 
the  deer's  throat,  to  bleed  it.  He  straightened  up,  as 
Phil  arrived,  and  waited  with  an  amused,  rather  con- 
ceited smirk  on  his  face.  It  was  the  man  with  the 
frozen  smile! 

"  Oh !  It's  you  once  more,  is  it  ? "  stammered 
Phil,  taken  aback. 

"Yes;  we  meet  again,  lad,"  responded  the  man, 
civilly.  "You  don't  happen  to  be  a  game  warden,  I 
reckon  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     I  don't." 

"  They  say  it's  against  the  law  to  shoot  a  deer  this 
time  o'  year;  but  the  law  don't  get  up  here.  It  ain't 
meant  for  us  men  who  need  meat.     Fine  buck,  eh  ?  " 

Phil  mumbled  assent. 

"  Those  your  bosses?  "  asked  the  man. 

"They're  part  of  the  roundup  herd." 

"  Same  ol'  white  mare  that  was  givin'  you  the  chase 
before,  eh  ?  "  mused  the  man.  "  Must  be  changin' 
camp.     Goin'  far?" 

"  Over  to  the  Big  Piney.  Where  are  you  travel- 
ing to?" 


PHIL    MEETS    THE    ENEMY  219 

"Me?  I'm.  jus'  prospectin'  through,  aimin'  fer 
Utah.  Say,  did  you  ever  see  a  fatter  buck  than  this, 
for  June?  He's  shorely  a  beauty.  How'd  you  like 
to  take  a  quarter  'long  with  you  to  camp  ?  Bet 
you're  all  tired  o'  beef  by  this  time." 

"  Why — but  it's  your  deer,"  stammered  Phil. 
"Can't  you  use  it  all?" 

"Me?  No,  there's  more  than  I  can  ever  eat. 
See,  I'll  show  you.     Supposin'  I  cut  this  quarter  off, 

here "  and  bending  he  sketched  with  the  point  of 

his  knife-blade  on  the  hide.  "  You  set  still  a  minute 
an'  I'll  butcher  it  out,  an'  then  you  can  turn  your 
bosses  back  an'  ride  into  camp  besides  with  a  nice 
mess  o'  venison  tied  on  your  saddle.  The  cook'll  be 
glad  to  see  you,  an'  so  '11  the  boys."  He  commenced 
work,  and  continued  his  ingratiating  line  of  talk. 
"  Won't  stop  to  hang  this  critter  up;  '11  jus'  give  you 
your  piece  now,  quick  as  I  can.  S'pose  you're  in  a 
hurry.  But  those  bosses  '11  find  the  herd  when  you've 
headed  'em  back.     I'll  help  you.     Ever  kill  a  deer  ?  " 

Phil,  interested  by  the  process  going  on,  was  reluc- 
tantly answering  "  no  "  when  he  caught  a  slight  but 
familiar  swish;  he  was  about  to  turn,  for  locating 
the  sound,  when  with  strike  like  a  lash  something 
whipped  about  his  shoulders,  and  simultaneously,  at 
a  sudden  shout  from  the  man  and  a  spring  forward 
by  Gray  Jack,  he  was  jerked  viciously  from  the  sad- 
dle. 

The  back  of  his  head  banged  thunderously  against 
the  ground,  and  in  a  flash  of  fire  he  began  a  long, 
long  journey  through  space. 


CHAPTER    XXII 


THE  LAST   OF  THE   MAN   WITH   THE   FROZEN   SMILE 


Phil  does  not  know  how  long  that  journey  lasted, 
but  when  he  landed  from  it  and  looked  about  him  he 
was  propped,  half-sitting,  behind  two  boulders  which, 
touching,  formed  an  angle.  This  angle  held  him, 
and  a  rope  wound  around  and  around  him  held  his 
arms  to  his  sides.  Before,  and  down  a  little  slope, 
voices  were  speaking.  It  happened  that  the  rough 
surfaces  of  the  boulders  in  contact  left  a  small  loop- 
hole on  a  level  with  the  eye;  so  that,  now  by  chance 
looking  through  this,  Phil  found  himself  gazing  at 
Chet's  honest,  tanned  face,  directly  in  line  and  sixty 
or  seventy  yards  away. 

From  the  saddle  Chet  was  talking  with  someone. 

"  No,  ain't  seen  'em  §ence,"  declared  the  someone. 
"Feller  about  your  age,  you  say?" 

"Yes.  Riding  a  gray  Circle  Dot  hawss,"  re- 
sponded Chet.  "They  broke  away  from  the  herd 
and  I  suppose  he  followed  them." 

"  White  mare  an'  two  or  three  other  hawsses  went 
by  down  yonder  a  bit  ago,  jes'  as  I  said.  But  no 
boy  was  after  'em.     Guess  you'd  better  look  further." 

Phil  started  to  call  Chet's  attention  to  this  inac- 
curacy, when  a  hard  point  punching  him  in  the  side 
caused  him   to  turn  his  gaze.     The  man  with   the 


aao 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE    221 

frozen  smile  was  sitting  by  him,  and  the  hard  point 
was  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle. 

The  frozen  smile  was  unaltered,  but  the  eyes  above 
it  were  full  of  silent  meaning.  Just  beyond  the  man 
(and  as  if  she,  too,  was  prisoner  to  him)  crouched 
the  unkempt  yet  not  unattractive  girl  of  the  arroyo. 
She  gave  a  little  shake  of  her  head  and  an  odd,  speak- 
ing little  frown.  Her  battered  slouch  hat  was  upon 
the  ground  beside  her.  Her  hair  hung  in  two  long 
braids,  one  over  each  shoulder,  their  ends  tied  with 
draggled  bows  of  black  ribbon.  She  proceeded  idly  to 
play  with  them,  flirting  them  behind  her  and  drawing 
them  back  again. 

Phil  felt  that  the  shake  and  the  frown  had  coun- 
seled him  to  keep  quiet — advice  emphasized  suffi- 
ciently, indeed,  by  that  rifle  muzzle  poking  into  him. 
So  he  dumbly  submitted.  When  he  had  shifted  his 
eyes  to  the  peep-hole  once  more,  Chet  was  about  to 
leave. 

"  All  right,"  he  was  drawling,  clearly.  "  Must 
have  been  swinging  'round  'em,  to  head  'em  in." 

"  Like  as  not." 

"  Nice  buck  you  got  there.     Well,  so  long." 

**  Yes.  Come  in  handy  when  a  man's  plumb  out 
o'  meat.  Wait;  I'll  ride  with  yuh,"  and  the  speaker 
grunted  as  if  he  was  tying  the  spoil  on  behind  a 
saddle. 

Chet  stolidly  sat,  his  glance  wandering  haphazard 
over  the  landscape,  including  the  bouldered  rampart. 
Phil,  peering  eagerly,  thought  several  times  that  their 
eyes  met;  seemed  to  him  that  they  must  meet.     But 


222 


BAR   B    BOYS 


Chet's  glance  wandered  as  carelessly  across  the  boul- 
ders as  anywhere  else. 

At  sight  of  that  familiar,  homely  countenance  so 
near  and  yet  so  unconscious  of  him,  Phil  was  flooded 
with  an  almost  irrepressible  desire  to  cry  out;  one 
single  cry,  as  an  announcement  of  his  presence.  But 
the  hard  muzzle  of  the  rifle  prodded  him  with  a  slight 
increase  of  pressure,  warning.  His  captor  knew  his 
thoughts. 

Chet  turned  Monte's  head  and  rode  him  across  the 
line  of  vision.  Followed  him  the  man  with  the  limp 
(recognized  at  once  by  Phil),  having  behind  the 
saddle  the  dressed  deer.  And  now  the  vista  was 
empty;  exceedingly  empty,  for  Chet  was  gone. 

Still  no  movement  to  leave  the  boulders  was  made 
by  the  man  with  the  frozen  smile;  and  the  three  re- 
mained silent  and  quiet,  as  before.  Ten  minutes 
elapsed ;  and  then,  at  last,  the  man  arose  cautiously  to 
his  knees  and  removing  his  hat  peered  cautiously  over 
the  top  of  the  bulwark.  After  a  long,  earnest  survey 
he  emerged  from  the  shelter  and  with  more  abandon 
seated  himself  in  the  open,  his  rifle  ready  across  his 
knees. 

"  You  two  stay  where  you  be,"  he  ordered, 
grufily,  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  his  profile  to  them. 

Phil,  uncomfortable  and  helpless,  looked  mutely  at 
the  girl.  She  smiled  (her  teeth  were  white  and 
even)  and  lifted  her  eyebrows  whimsically.  Even 
through  her  grime  and  sunburn  she  appeared  to  Phil 
as  being  pretty ;  at  least,  as  being  capable  of  prettiness 
were  she  given  a  show. 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE    223 

"  Set  him  up,  if  you  want  to,"  bade  the  man, 
shortly. 

"  Can't  I  untie  him  ?  " 

"  No.    An'  keep  out  o'  sight,  too." 

The  girl  helped  Phil  wriggle  to  a  more  easy  pos- 
ture, with  his  back  higher  against  the  rock. 

"  Much  obliged,"  he  panted. 

"  They'll  untie  you  after  a  while,"  she  assured,  smil- 
ing frankly  upon  him.  As  said,  her  teeth  were  whole- 
somely white;  and  Phil  noted  that  she  evidently  had 
made  efforts  to  be  neat. 

"  Yuh  can  cut  all  that  out,"  informed  the  man, 
gruff  as  usual.     "  Save  your  wind." 

So  Phil  and  the  girl  could  only  sit  facing  each  other 
and  occasionally  exchanging  smiles;  his  rueful,  hers 
friendly. 

Measured  by  an  invisible  timepiece  the  minutes 
ticked  away  unbroken.  At  last  the  shuffling  of  hoofs 
was  heard.  Phil  barkened  anxiously;  but  the  atti- 
tude of  the  man  with  the  frozen  smile,  who  now 
stood  and  lazily  stretched,  killed  his  hopes. 

"  Started  him  on  ?  "  asked  the  man,  of  the  rider, 
casually. 

"  You  bet.  He's  some  worried,  still,  but  I  told  him 
I'd  round  'em  up  if  I  come  acrost  'em,  an'  bring  them 
an'  the  boy  together  into  the  camp.  How  is  he? 
Got  him  hog-tied,  yet,  I  see." 

It  was  the  man  with  the  limp,  gazing  in  from  his 
horse.  He  grinned  evilly  under  his  thin  black  mus- 
tache. 

"  Roped,  thrown  an'  tied,  eh,  boy?"  he  addressed. 


224 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"How's  your  head?  You  certainly  did  fall  from 
that  hawss.     Ache?'* 

"No,"  denied  Phil,  angrily.     But  it  did. 

"  I'll  tell  your  friend,  if  I  see  him  again.  He's  in- 
quirin'  about  you,  already.  Well,"  he  remarked,  to 
the  other  man,  "  I'll  fetch  the  hawsses  over,  an'  we'll 
git  out.     Can't  start  any  too  soon." 

He  galloped  away,  presently  returning  leading 
three  saddle  animals,  one  of  which  was  Gray  Jack. 
Phil,  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  spying  them,  was 
rejoiced  to  see  Gray  Jack.  'Twas  like  seeing  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, and  next  to  seeing  Chet. 

The  man  with  the  frozen  smile  unwrapped  the 
rope  bonds  from  about  Phil's  body. 

"You  git  on  your  boss  an'  come  along,"  he  di- 
rected. "  If  you  don't  try  any  tricks  you  won't  be 
hurt.  But  if  you  do,  there's  trouble  for  yuh.  You 
saw  how  I  shot  that  runnin'  buck?  I'd  shoot  you 
just  as  quick." 

"  So'd  I,"  supplemented  his  partner. 

"  You  two  foller  him,  an'  I'll  foUer  you/'  directed 
the  first,  continuing. 

Phil,  a  little  stiff  and  giddy,  climbed  into  his  saddle. 
The  girl  spryly  ensconced  herself  in  hers,  sitting 
astride.  The  man  with  the  limp  rode  off.  The  girl  fol- 
lowed, and  Phil  obediently  fell  into  line  behind  her. 
The  man  with  the  frozen  smile  brought  up  the  rear. 

With  never  another  word  they  proceeded  at  a  sharp 
trot  along  the  slope,  grassy  and  bouldered. 

Phil  could  figure  out  no  chance  of  escape.  He  was 
sandwiched  in  too  closely.     Behind  was  a  man  and  a 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE    225 

rifle — and  he  had  seen  how  accurately  the  twain 
worked  together.  Before  was  a  man  and  presumably 
a  revolver.  No  rifle  was  in  evidence,  but  he  must  be 
armed.  Mr.  Simms  was  warrant  for  this.  The  man 
with  the  limp  had  fixed  him,  quick  as  a  wink.  Cogitat- 
ing,  Phil  decided  that  in  this  case  discretion  was  the 
better  part  of  valor.  Besides,  the  girl!  If  he 
escaped,  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  take  her  with  him. 
'Twould  be  mean  to  desert  her.  She  had  been  trying 
to  escape,  herself,  for  a  long  time,  maybe,  judging 
by  the  appeal  left  in  that  arroyo  and  found  by  Chet 
in  the  brush.  If  he  stayed,  they  could  help  each 
other,  and  both  get  away. 

Half  around  the  hill  the  leader  struck  into  a  shal- 
low swale,  somewhat  timbered  with  the  usual  cedars, 
intersecting  their  way,  and  ascending  this  until  it 
suddenly  ended  against  a  steeper  slope,  they  halted 
before  a  tangle  of  dead  brush.  Phil  saw  that  the 
brush  formed  a  rude  corral;  within  were  the  old 
white  mare,  the  lanky  colt  and  a  dozen  other  bosses, 
including  all  the  Bar  B  truants. 

A  third  man,  rifle  in  hand,  arose  from  a  niche 
where  he  had  been  concealed,  yawned  and  stretched. 
He  was  the  man  with  the  one  eye. 

"  Tumble  off,'*  bade  Phil's  especial  guardian  be- 
hind; and  thus  prompted,  Phil  dismounted.  So  did 
the  others. 

"  Set  down,  both  of  yuh." 

With  a  little  gesture  of  protest  and  her  whimsical 
smiling  lift  of  the  brows  the  girl  instantly  plumped 
to  the  ground  and  sat  upon  her  feet.     Phil   seated 


226 


BAR   B    BOYS 


himself  more  leisurely,  to  show,  by  his  manner,  his 
rebellion.  The  girl  smiled  upon  him.  The  men 
compared  notes — talking  low  so  that  .only  an  occa- 
sional phrase  reached  Phil's  ears. 

"  Water-hole — keep  the  kid — run  the  bosses  out 
fust — didn't  want  to  but  had  to  do  it — kid  bumped 
right  into  him  with  the  hawsses — no,  couldn't  let 
them  by,  an'  the  buck,  too — sure;  roped  him  off  slick 
an'  clean — he'd  seen  me  too  much  before — no;  other 
boy'd  never  seen  Joe — jest  kep'  him  talkin'  an'  then 
rode  away  with  him  to  play  safe — yes,  liable  to  back- 
track " — mumble,  mumble, — and  "  All  right,"  from 
the  man  with  the  frozen  smile.  "  But  git  a  move  on 
yuh.     Ther'  ain't  no  time  to  lose." 

The  two  other  men  rode  away;  the  man  with  the 
frozen  smile,  sitting  rolling  a  cigarette,  rifle  across 
knees,  remained  on  guard.  The  minutes  passed. 
Nobody  spoke.  The  man  lighted  his  cigarette,  and 
puffed.  Phil  disconsolately  stared  at  his  own  boot 
toes,  before  him. 

"Hee-hum,"  sighed  the  girl,  demurely. 

"  Shut  up,"  roughly  rebuked  the  man. 

With  a  little  face  the  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
as  if  such  a  response  was  quite  to  be  expected ;  and 
answering  Phil's  glance  of  concern  smiled  bravely. 
She  was  a  girl  of  spirit. 

Now,  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  the  quiet,  Phil 
caught  sight  of  two  horsemen  galloping,  against  the 
hillside  beyond.  They  were  in  the  opposite  quarter 
to  that  where,  the  man  with  the  limp  and  the  man 
with  the  one  eye  had  disappeared.     And  as  suddenly 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE     227 

Phil's  heart  beat  high.  Those  two  figures  looked 
familiar. 

He  waited  breathlessly,  hoping  that  no  one  else 
had  noted.  But  he  hoped  in  vain ;  the  man  with  the 
frozen  smile  had  seen  as  quick  as  he,  and  with  a 
startled  exclamation  was  springing  to  his  feet.  His 
face  hardened;  he  hesitated,  alertly  searching  right 
and  left.  Among  the  scattering  of  cedars  back  in 
the  draw  through  which  they  had  arrived  sounded 
hoofs  approaching  at  a  trot.  For  an  instant  gazing 
hard,  then  abruptly  decided,  the  man  with  a  disgusted 
oath  ran  to  his  horse,  vaulted  into  the  saddle  and 
spurred  away  across  the  pocket  for  the  other  side. 

Down  the  opposite  slope  came  thudding  at  full 
speed  Pete  the  cook  and  Chet.  Haney,  bareheaded, 
face  and  hair  aflame,  now  burst  from  the  cedars ;  and 
riding  like  a  demon  flashed  past.  Chet  pulled  up  by 
the  two  prisoners;  Pete  joined  the  Texan  and  the  two 
raced  on  in  pursuit  of  the  man  with  the  frozen  smile. 
Pete  was  riding  Pepper. 

"  Hello,"  greeted  Chet,  grin  and  shaggy  chaps  the 
same  as  ever  (it  seemed  an  age  to  Phil  since  he  had 
last  seen  them),  swinging  to  the  ground. 

He  addressed  Phil  but  looked  at  the  girl. 

However,  there  was  little  time  to  talk.  All 
watched  the  pursuit.  The  fleeing  rustler  was  pushing 
at  full  speed  up  the  farther  slope.  Pete,  his  broad 
hat  flaring  back,  was  beating  Haney.  The  three 
watchers — Phil  and  the  girl  on  their  feet,  in  their  ex- 
citement ;  but  they  did  not  know — could  hear  the 
sharp  commands  to  halt. 


228 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  He'll  get  away ! "  exclaimed  the  girl. 

"  No,  he  won't,"  replied  Phil,  hopefully. 

"  That's  an  awful  good  hawss  he's  on,"  appraised 
Chet. 

"  It  used  to  be  a  race-horse,"  said  the  girl. 

"  But  look  at  Pepper  go,  though ! '  directed  Phil. 
Pepper  was  his  horse. 

"Yes,  sir!  Pete's  closing  up»  I  didn't  know 
Pepper  was  that  fast ;  did  you  ?  " 

"  Haney's  mad  at  getting  left.     See  him  spur." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  they  do  catch  him,"  murmured  the 
girl. 

"  They'll  shoot  pretty  soon,"  announced  Chet. 
"  They're  shooting  now !  " 

For  on  a  sudden,  the  fugitive,  as  if  nagged  beyond 
endurance,  turned  in  his  saddle.  His  rifle,  leveled 
backward,  puffed  faint  smoke.  Almost  simulta- 
neously the  bullet  zipped  through  the  brush  clear  to  the 
three  spectators  below — so  nearly  were  they  in  the 
line  of  fire.  He  bent  to  his  work  again.  The  flat 
report  finally  drifted  down. 

The  Texan  swerved  to  the  right.  Phil  thought 
that  he  was  hit  or  dodging ;  but  no,  he  was  only  seek- 
ing an  easier  grade,  and  kept  doggedly  on. 

"  Haney  hasn't  got  any  gun,"  vouchsafed  Chet, 
soberly.     "  But  he  doesn't  care." 

Pete  threw  his  horse  on  its  haunches.  The  rifle 
that  he  was  carrying  jerked  to  his  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  nobody  is  killed,"  quavered  the  girl. 
"  Look  out !  "  she  almost  screamed,  in  warning. 

"  He  shot  first,"  accused  both  boys. 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE     229 

Pete's  rifle  spurted  rapidly — once,  twice,  three 
times.  The  fugitive  turned  and  again  fired.  The 
horses  in  the  brush  corral  ran  about  wildly.  The 
bullet  must  have  struck  among  them.  Phil  jumped 
to  catch  Gray  Jack  and  the  girl's  horse,  which  also 
showed  signs  of  unrest.  At  the  same  time  he  saw 
Pete  shoot  once  more;  and  the  fugitive,  crumpling 
forward,  pitched  limply  to  the  ground;  was  dragged 
along  several  feet,  and  was  left  lying  in  a  form- 
less blotch  while  his  horse  trotted  on  a  few  yards,  and 
stopped. 

"  He  got  him !  "  cried  Chet. 

Pete  (they  could  see  him  shove  fresh  cartridges 
into  his  magazine)  rode  up.  Haney  obliqued  and 
joined  him.  The  two  gazed  down  upon  the  blotch. 
They  did  not  dismount.  But  stooping  from  the 
saddle  Haney  picked  up  the  rifle;  and  next  catching 
the  horse  by  the  bridle  they  came  slowly  back,  horses 
lathered,  to  the  three  spectators. 

"  All  over/*  quoth  Haney,  endeavoring  to  speak 
lightly. 

"  Is  he  killed  ?  "  quavered  the  girl. 

"  Plumb,"  declared  Pete. 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  she  moaned.  "  I  wish  I  hadn't  seen. 
I  didn't  want  anybody  killed." 

Regret  and  sorrow,  in  a  little  shiver,  passed 
through  Phil  also.  Chet  was  grave — embarrassedly 
kicking  with  one  toe  at  a  bit  of  brush". 

"He  was  the  best  of  the  three  to  me,"  faltered 
the  girl.  "  He  hardly  tver  struck  me,  ,even  when  I 
teased  him.     Is  he  dead?*^ 


230 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  He  was,  Miss,  last  time  I  looked  at  him,"  avowed 
Pete,  wiping  his  forehead,  still  wet  with  exertion. 

"What'd  they  do  to  you,  Smith-Jones?"  queried 
Haney.     "  Hurt  yuh  any  ?  " 

"  Just  roped  me  off  my  horse,  is  all." 

"  We  must  start  some  hustlin',"  said  Pete.  "  You 
boys  afraid  to  stay  here  alone  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  There  are  two  other  men.  They  rode  off  just 
before  you  came,"  added  Phil. 

"  They  won't  bother,  after  all  that  shootin'.     But 

here "  and  Pete  passed  his  rifle  to  Chet.     "  You 

all  set  in  the  cedars  a  ways  an'  if  anybody  interferes 
with  yuh,  fix  'em.     We'll  be  back  direc'ly." 

With  Haney  he  galloped  away — Pepper  bearing 
him  gallantly.    ' 

"  Hope  I  find  my  hat,"  they  heard  Haney  remark, 
plaintively.     "  Cedar  done  snaitched  it  off." 

The  boys  led  the  three  horses  back  amidst  the 
cedars  of  the  swale,  and  with  the  girl  sat  down  where 
they  could  see  the  brush  corral  and  the  approaches 
to  it. 

"  How  did  you  know  where  to  find  us?"  demanded 
Phil,  of  Chet;  striving  to  blur  the  mental  picture  of 
the  body  lying  on  the  hill-slope. 

"Aw,  I  saw  you  behind  those  boulders.  I  saw 
you  all  the  time  I  was  talking,"  declared  Chet. 
"  That  man  didn't  fool  me  for  a  minute — but  I  had 
to  let  them  think  he  did." 

"  Then  you  saw  me  looking  through  that  hole  ? 
You  never  let  on;  that's  sure,"  said  Phil,  admiringly. 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE    231 

"  I  mightn't  have  seen  if  something  hadn't  flipped 
above  the  rocks,  like  a  bat." 

"  That  was  my  braids,"  asserted  the  girl.  "  I 
flipped  them  on  purpose,  as  high  as  I  could." 

"  I  saw  them  and  then  I  sort  of  made  out  some- 
body's eye  stopping  a  crack,  and  I  guessed.  The 
man  gave  me  a  nice  talk,  but  I  didn't  see  any  rifle 
and  I  knew  he  hadn't  killed  the  deer.  Then  he  was 
left-handed  with  his  knife,  and " 

"  He  limped,  too." 

"Not  riding,  he  didn't.  But  I  decided  that  soon 
as  he  quit  me  I'd  leave  the  hawss-herd  at  the  first 
good  place  and  ride  ahead  and  get  the  men  back 
quick.  Then  here  came  Haney,  'cross  country,  to 
say  that  camp  had  been  changed  to  Coyote  Springs, 
because  the  Big  Piney  hole  was  dry.  So  we  hustled 
the  herd  one  side,  and  roped  out  a  hawss  for  Pete, 
and  caught  the  wagon.  Pete  was  tickled  to  join  in. 
He  got  his  saddle  out  in  a  jiffy,  and  he  had  a  rifle, 
too,  in  the  wagon.  Then  we  reckoned  the  rustlers 
would  make  for  the  old  cowboy  corral,  here;  it's  a 
good  place  to  hold  stock  in,  and  it's  out  of  the  way; 
so  we  cut  over  to  it,  and  divided  up — ^and  you  saw  us 
come." 

"  You  bet  I  did,"  agreed  Phil,  heartily.  "  Where 
have  Pete  and  Haney  gone  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  There's  a  spade  in  the  wagon,  I  suppose,"  an- 
swered Chet. 

"  Oh."  Phil  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Wish  Pete 
hadn't  had  to  do  it,"  he  said,  impulsively. 

"  I  don't  know."    Chet  spoke  slowly.     "  Rustlers 


232 


BAR   B    BOYS 

It's  the  law  of  the 


must  expect  to  end  like  that, 
range.     And  he  shot  first." 

Chet  suddenly  appeared  to  be  a  man.  Eyeing-  him, 
and  listening,  Phil  realized  that  beneath  his  chubby 
exterior  his  partner  already  was  invested  with  the 
grim  practical  spirit  of  the  open,  where  men  must 
take  care  of  themselves,  and  the  fittest  survive. 

"What's  your  name?"  asked  Chet,  directly,  of  the 
girl. 

"Cherry.     What's  yours?" 

"  Mine's  Chester  Simms.  His  is  Philip  Ma- 
cowan." 

"  Mine's  just  Cherry.     That's  all  I  know." 

"  That  man  "  (and  Chet  nodded  toward  the  hillside) 
"your  father?" 

"  No.  Of  course  he  wasn't.  I  haven't  any  father, 
I  guess.     He  and  the  other  two  men  stole  me." 

"  Is  this  yours  ?  "  Chet  held  out  the  help  message 
found  by  him  in  the  cleft  stick  among  the  sage. 

"  Oh,  goody !  "  The  girl  clapped  her  hands  softly. 
"  I  shot  it  out  of  the  arroyo  with  my  bow.  And  I 
stuck  a  lot  more  in  the  walls,  and  left  some  signs 
there,  too." 

"  I  saw  those,"  put  in  Phil  promptly.  "  How  did 
you  stick  in  the  sticks  so  high  ?  " 

"  Shot  them  in  with  a  little  bow  I  made,"  she  ex- 
plained. "  When  I  was  riding  past  and  when  the 
men  weren't  looking." 

"  And  you  wrote  on  the  walls,  didn't  you  ? "  pur- 
sued Phil. 

"  That  was  a  sign  to  show  which  way  I  was  travel- 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE     233 

ing,  and  to  ask  help.  I  didn't  have  any  more  paper, 
so  I  put  pieces  of  my  handkerchief  in  the  arrows.  I 
read  all  about  such  things  in  an  old  book  the  men 
had,  where  white  people  had  been  captured  by 
Indians." 

"  It  was  mighty  smart  of  you,"  blurted  Chet. 

"  Smarter  than  I  was,"  confessed  Phil. 

"Yes.  We  read  your  word  in  the  arroyo  back- 
wards— *  p-l-e-h '  instead  of  *  help,'  "  supplemented 
Phil.     "  Until  we  guessed  right." 

"  When  I  was  drawing  the  girl  there  my  horse 
started  up  right  in  the  middle,  and  I  had  to  put  half 
of  her  on  one  spot  and  half  on  another,"  she  ex- 
plained further. 

"That  fooled  me,  too,"  confessed  Phil.  "They 
looked  like  brands." 

"  After  you'd  seen  me  in  the  first  arroyo,  when  you 
were  lost,  then  I  knew  Pd  get  rescued  some  time.  I 
tried  to  make  a  signal  to  you,  but  the  men  watched 
me  too  close." 

"I'd  almost  met  you  before  that.  Twas  one 
evening  when  all  of  you  were  camped  by  a  spring  at 
the  foot  of  a  rock,  up  in  the  timber.  And  they  tried 
to  shoot  me." 

"  Oh< — 'and  were  you  the  boy  they  chased  ?  It  was 
Joe,  the  lame  man,  who  shot  at  you.  He's  awful. 
He'd  as  soon  kill  a  person  as  not.  I  tell  you  he  was 
mad  that  night.  So  were  they  all.  They  were 
scared,  too,  because  they'd  been  overheard.  And  in 
the  arroyo,  when  you  came  upon  them  the  next  time, 
they  were  suspicious.     After  you'd  gone  they  were 


234 


BAR   B    BOYS 


sorry  they  hadn't  kept  you,  and  they  said  the  next 
chance  they  would.     They've  got  your  watch." 

"Oh,  have  they?     How'd  they  get  it?" 

"  Didn't  you  lose  it,  that  time  when  you  ran  and 
they  chased  you?  Well,  Foley,  the  one-eyed  man, 
found  it,  and  he's  wearing  it.     It's  gold,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Maybe  you'll  get  it  back  sometime,  again,"  pro- 
posed Chet. 

"I  will  if  I  can,"  agreed  Phil,  determinedly. 

At  any  rate  this  was  better  than  if  the  watch  was 
lying  in  the  timber,  exposed  to  all  weathers.  Now 
he  at  least  knew  where  to  look. 

"  How  long  they  had  you  ? "  queried  Chet,  curi- 
ously, of  the  girl. 

She  gave  a  characteristic  shrug. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  It's  about  all  I  can 
remember — being  with  them." 

"  You  don't  talk  as  if  you'd  been  raised  with  such 
folks,"  proceeded  Chet.  "  You  talk  like  Phil,  here. 
Reckon  they  must  have  stole  you." 

In  deprecating  fashion  she  shrugged  again  and 
lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"Did  they  beat  yuh?" 

"  Some.  The  lame  man  was  the  worst.  He 
bossed  the  others.  I  was  afraid  of  him.  I  wish  it 
was  he  up  there  instead  of  Jack,  because  he'll  follow 
and  try  to  get  me  again." 

She  shivered. 

"Only  wish  he  would — and  that  other  man,  too," 
declared  Phil.     "  Then  we'd  get  them." 

"  Somebody's  coming.     Listen !  "   prompted    Chet, 


LAST  OF  MAN  WITH  FROZEN  SMILE    235 

who  all  this  time  had  been  sitting  with  eyes  and  ears 
intent  upon  the  outskirts  around  and  about. 

"Oh,  dear!'*  murmured  the  girl,  apprehensively. 

"  It's  Pete  and  Haney,"  returned  Chet,  who  had 
been  standing  and  peering,  rifle  in  hand. 

The  two  rode  up.  Haney  bore  a  spade  across  his 
shoulder,  and  wore  his  hat  again. 

"Those  other  fellows  haven't  showed  themselves 
yet?"  asked  Pete. 

The  boys  shook  their  heads. 

"  They  won't,  then." 

"  No ;  their  business  lays  'tother  side  the  range, 
jes'  now,"  remarked  Haney,  grimly. 

They  passed  on,  to  the  hillside.  Phil  tried  not  to 
look,  and  when  they  returned  he  asked  no  questions, 
nor  did  Chet,  but  joined  in  driving  the  horses  out  of 
the  rude  corral.  With  the  loose  stock  before  (there 
were,  as  said,  the  truants  from  the  herd,  and  half  a 
dozen  others)  the  party  rode  soberly  away — the 
empty  saddle  in  the  midst  of  the  little  herd  constantly 
suggestive.  Phil  tried  not  to  imagine  the  dead  man 
left  behind,  under  the  sod  and  rocks  of  the  sunny 
slope,  that  sarcastic  smile  (no  doubt)  still  upon  his 
face. 

It  was  Pete  the  cook  who  commented  first. 

"Well,  boys,"  he  said,  "I  didn't  do  it  until  I  had 
to.  See  here."  He  removed  his  great  hat.  A  bullet 
hole  was  discovered  low  in  the  crown. 

Haney  noted  it  gravely.     Chet  uttered  "  Gee !  '* 

"  He  had  as  good  a  burial  as  we  could  give  him," 
soliloquized   Pete,   replacing  his  hat;  and  his  hand 


^z^ 


BAR   B    BOYS 


trembled.  "  And  once  he  may  have  been  a  good 
man;  good  as  any  of  us.  But  he  sure  was  in  bad 
company,  an'  he  acted  queer.  Hope  his  mammy 
never  knows." 

"It's  the  law  of  the  range,"  said  the  Texan, 
grimly. 

And  Phil  thought  that  either  expression  would 
make  a  fit  epitaph  for  that  lonely  grave :  "  He  was 
in  bad  company  "  or,  "  It's  the  law  of  the  range." 

"  When  we  see  the  coroner  or  sheriff  we'll  tell 
him,"  remarked  Pete.  Whereupon,  with  this,  the 
subject  was  dismissed. 

They  jogged  on.  The  girl  related  her  history,  add- 
ing little  to  what  she  had  already  told.  The  main 
real  news  came  from  Haney. 

"  Got  a  sure-'nough  hawss  jingler  at  camp  now, 
Smith- Jones,"  he  said.  "  Caught  us  on  the  march. 
Reckon  you'll  have  to  go  to  punchin'." 

"Who?    That  kid  Henry  hired?"  asked  Chet. 

"  Yes,  suh." 

"Bully!"  exclaimed  Chet.  "Phil  can  ride  with 
me,  then." 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

MISTRESS    CHERRY   JOINS    THE    CAMP 

At  the  wagon  Pepper  was  turned  loose,  and  the 
horse  that  had  been  ridden  in  flight  by  the  man  with 
the  frozen  smile  also  was  stripped  of  accoutrements. 

"  Purty  good  saddle/'  observed  Haney. 

"Cheyenne?"  queried  Pete. 

"Ogden.'' 

"Well,  can't  tell  by  a  man's  saddle  where  he's 
from.     Not  these  days." 

"Cain  tell  where  the  h'awss  is  from,  tho',  right 
quick,"  retorted  the  Texan.  "  That  Key  brand  come 
out  o'  Texas.     Know  the  ranch  an'  all  about  it." 

"  He  bought  that  horse,"  put  in  the  girl.  "  Truly 
he  did.  He  said  so.  I  heard  him.  He  bought  him 
because  he  was  a  racer." 

"  Have  to  take  youah  word  foh  it,  Miss,"  responded 
Haney,  but  not  convinced. 

"  Anybody  want  one  o'  these  guns  ?  "  asked  Pete. 

"Ain't  got  no  way  o*  carryin'  it,"  averred  Haney. 
"Leave  'em  in  the  wagon.  Smith-Jones  here'll  fight 
foh  us  with  his  fists ;  won't  you,  Smith-Jones  ?  " 

"  Nobody's  goin'  to  bother  yuh,  anyway,"  said  the 
cook.     "  Those  fellows  won't  come  out  in  the  open." 

"  Joe  (he's  the  one  who  limps)  is  awful  mean, 
tho',"  insisted  the  girl.     "  He  doesn't  ever  give  up." 

"Better  take  my  rifle,  then,"  advised  the  cook. 
237 


238  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  Here,"  and  he  handed  it  across  to  Phil,  as  the 
nearest;  while  Chet,  who  had  but  a  moment  before 
rehnquished  it,  looked  disappointed.  "I've  got  this 
other  one  an'  a  six-shooter." 

They  left  Pete  to  follow  with  his  wagon ;  preceding, 
they  added  their  loose  horses  to  the  herd  (which  they 
found  intact,  awaiting)  and  continued  upon  the  route 
for  Coyote  Springs.  To  Phil  one  direction  in  this 
strange  country  was  the  same  as  another ;  the  change 
of  destination  from  Big  Piney  to  Coyote  was  im- 
material. He  and  the  girl  rode  at  the  rear  of  the 
herd;  the  red-headed  Haney  had  the  left  flank,  Chet, 
in  shaggy  chaps,  the  right. 

The  region  traversed  was  flat  mesa,  sagy  and 
warm,  sprinkled  with  cedars  and  an  occasional  stunted 
pin  oak,  all  under  a  sky  of  intense  soft  blue  amidst 
which  floated  lightly  a  few  cottony  clouds.  Peace 
ruled  again.  Phil,  jogging  on,  rifle  across  saddle, 
despaired  of  any  call  to  arms.  But  the  possession  of 
the  gun  imbued  him  with  a  feeling  of  responsibility. 
'Twas  a  real  rifle  this;  he  had  witnessed  it  in  action. 
And  its  weather-worn  and  service-worn  condition,  as 
he  examined  it  minutely,  impressed  him. 

Thus,  watchful,  ready,  the  guardian  of  the  trail, 
he  rode  behind  the  herd,  with  the  sensation  of  being 
an  emigrant  on  the  outlook  for  Indians.  The  girl 
beside  him  chatted  happily. 

It  was  past  noon  when  Haney  went  galloping 
around  and  on  ahead;  and  unexpectedly  the  camping 
place  had  been  reached :  a  bunch  of  men  lolling  about, 
Haney  and  a  strange  youth  holding  a  rope  corral. 


^ 


MISTRESS    CHERRY   JOINS    CAMP    239 

After  the  pack  animals  had  been  relieved  of  their 
burdens  the  strange  youth,  who  proved  to  be  the 
long  absent  v^rangler,  prepared  to  take  the  herd  out 
again.  But  first  he  must  join  in  the  conversation 
which  floated  to  him  as  the  loquacious  Pete,  aided  by 
Chet,  began  to  narrate  the  adventures  of  the  morning. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  let  'em  rope  you  off  your 
hawss  that  way,"  he  advised  Phil  wisely. 

"How  could  I  help  it?"  retorted  Phil,  nettled  by 
the  patronage. 

"  You  ought  toVe  been  watchin'  out.  And  say, 
your  stuff's  in  the  depot  at  the  Junction,  with  a  whole 
lot  to  pay  on  it,  too." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself  of  counsel,  and  of 
news,  with  a  little  swagger  in  his  business-like  mien 
he  proceeded  with  the  cawy. 

"That  lad's  too  fresh,"  remarked  somebody,  re- 
flectively. 

Silence  gave  assent.  Bud,  the  new  youth,  already 
had  been  appraised  at  his  true  value.  However,  Phil 
was  glad  to  know  about  the  baggage. 

Coyote  Springs  was  a  small  shallow  basin  in  the 
open,  containing  at  its  center  a  pool  of  stagnant  water 
about  the  size  of  a  hogshead,  held  as  in  a  cup  by  the 
rocks. 

The  water  had  to  be  dipped  very  carefully,  so  as 
not  to  stir  it  up;  and  anyway  it  was  rather  wriggly. 
But  it  was  the  only  supply  in  the  vicinity. 

By  the  time  Pete  had  dug  his  fireplace  and,  while 
his  fire  was  being  built,  had  unpacked  his  "  tools,"  the 
story  of  Phil's  encounter  and  the  events  that  followed 


240  BAR   B    BOYS 

had  been  recited  to  all  comers.  The  first  curiosity 
over  the  arrival  of  the  girl  merged  into  a  lively  un- 
certainty as  to  what  should  or  could  be  done  with 
her.  This  was  a  topic  which  seemed  to  be  of  more 
importance  than  the  tragedy  of  the  hill  slope;  that 
was  past  history,  this  was  present.  The  man  with 
the  frozen  smile  had  brought  his  end  upon  himself. 

"  Can't  take  her  down  to  the  ranch  and  leave  her," 
said  Mr.  Simms,  puzzled.  "  Nobody  there  but  the 
cat." 

"  If  we  could  get  her  over  to  the  Junction  my 
wife'd  take  care  of  her,"  said  Henry  (who  was  mar- 
ried) ;  "  only,  she  ain't  at  home.  She's  visitin'  her 
folks." 

"Well,  don't  see  how  we  can  keep  her  'round 
camp,"  grumbled  Old  Jess.  "  This  ain't  no  place  for 
women  or  girls.  Can't  be  ketchin'  an'  saddlin' 
hawsses  for  'em  all  the  time." 

"  Thank  you.  I  can  catch  my  own  horse,  and  I 
can  saddle  him,  too,"  flashed  Mistress  Cherry,  in- 
dignantly, who  chanced  to  overhear  this  remark. 
"  And  I  can  throw  a  rope,  and  do  lots  of  things. 
You  needn't  be  afraid  that  I'll  bother  you!" 

"  Oh !  Excuse  me,  ma'am,"  proffered  Old  Jess, 
meekly. 

**  And  I  can  cook,  too,"  she  continued. 

"  Humph!  One  cook's  all  we  can  stand,"  rejoined 
Old  Jess. 

"You  bet.  If  I  ain't  cook  enough  for  this  outfit, 
I'm  ready  to  leave,"  declared  Pete,  tartly.  "  Won't 
have  anybody,  he  or  she,  messin'  'round  my  things." 


MISTRESS    CHERRY   JOINS    CAMP    241 

It  was  Ford  who  gallantly  came  to  the  rescue  in 
this  social  crisis,  and  filled  the  breach. 

"  I  move  you,"  he  said,  standing  and  extravagantly 
taking  off  his  hat,  "  it  be  the  sense  of  this  camp  that 
seeing  Miss  Cherry  can  rope  and  ride  and  cook  and 
is  an  all-'round  hand  she  be  retained  indefinitely." 

"  'Specially  sence  she  fetched  her  own  string,  as  if 
she  counted  on  stayin'  a  while,"  added  Haney  softly. 

"  Might  put  her  at  the  Dober  ranch.  Reckon 
they'd  keep  her,"  proposed  Buster. 

"  Please  let  me  stay  here,"  faltered  the  girl. 
"  Please.  I'll  do  anything — and  some  of  you'll  be 
good  to  me." 

"  Y-yes,"  stated  Mr.  Simms,  slowly;  "I  second 
Ford's  motion.  She  might  as  well  stay  with  the 
camp,  now  she's  here.  Chet  and  I'll  look  after  her. 
Come  here,  honey,"  he  bade.  He  put  his  arm  about 
her  shoulders,  and  gazed  upon  her  wistfully.  "  After 
roundup  and  summer  camp,  how'd  you  hke  to  go  back 
to  the  Bar  B  ranch  with  Chet  and  me,  and  be  our 
girl,  against  the  time  we  find  your  own  folks  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  it,"  she  replied  simply.  "  You'd  be  good 
to  me." 

"  And  you'd  be  good  for  us,"  he  smiled.  "  It's 
pretty  lonesome  without  a  bit  o'  she-stock  'round  to 
show  us  manners.  Chet  needs  something  o'  that 
kind,  and  so  do  I." 

"  Hurrah ! "  cried  Chet,  jubilantly.  "  I'll 
teach " 

"  You  wait,"  admonished  his  father.  "  Mebbe 
she'll  teach  you/* 


242  BAR   B    BOYS 

And  thus  the  girl  was  adopted;  henceforth  as 
"  Cherry  "  to  Mr.  Simms  and  Chet,  Philip  and  Ford ; 
and  as  "  Miss  "  and  "  ma'am  "  to  the  others,  she  was 
accepted  by  the  camp — Old  Jess  and  Pete  speedily,  if 
gruffly,  betraying  their  pleasure  also  at  the  arrange- 
ment. 

She  did  not  know  how  long  she  had  been  with  the 
three  rustlers.  She  believed  that  the  man  with  the 
limp  had  her  first — but  back  of  him  her  recollection 
seemed  not  to  extend.  Yet  she  evinced  tokens  of  cul- 
ture. The  roughness  of  manner  and  speech  with 
which  she  had  been  surrounded  had  not  infected  her. 
She  proved  to  be  a  sweet,  bright  girl,  extraordinarily 
independent.  That  she  was  smart  Phil  and  Chet  had 
early  decided  as  soon  as  they  had  appreciated  her 
signs.  And  her  flipping  of  her  braids  to  call  Chet's 
attention — that  sure  was  smart ! 

A  few  hours'  stay  in  the  camp  changed  Cherry's 
appearance  considerably.  Like  a  waif  kitten  which 
has  found  a  home  she  immediately  proceeded  to  clean 
up. 

Haney  the  Texan  without  saying  a  word  before- 
hand got  out  the  cone-shaped  little  dog-tent  which 
he  was  packing  in  case  of  rain  and  set  it  up. 

"  That's  youah  tent,  now,  Miss,"  he  informed. 

Whereupon  she  promptly  retired  into  it  with  water 
and  soap  and  towel  (so  much  water  that  Pete  was 
aghast — "  Didn't  have  that  toted  to  take  a  bath  in !  " 
he  remonstrated)  to  emerge  fairly  abloom.  The 
grime  had  vanished.  Phil's  discarded  hat  (much 
superior  to  her  own  old  one)  was  perched  becomingly 


I 


MISTRESS    CHERRY   JOINS    CAMP     243 

upon  her  crown,  and  at  Ford's  suggestion  she  had 
been  supplied  with  a  pair  of  overalls :  Chet's — large, 
but  clean! 

"  Reg'lar  cowgirl,  now,  shuah,"  congratulated 
Haney,  while  the  camp  all  gazed  admiringly. 

"  Here — I  give  you  dees,"  exclaimed  the  impulsive 
Hombro.  "  I  buy  heem  down  Sierra  la  Luz,  where  I 
leev.     Mexican." 

He  had  been  rummaging  in  his  bed  pack,  and  now 
he  handed  her  a  beautiful  pair  of  cowboy  boots,  of 
soft  brown  leather  and  red  tops  decorated  with  silver 
filigree. 

"Goat  skin,"  he  quoth.  "Wear  'em.  They  fit. 
See?  "  and  he  thrust  forth  his  own  foot,  as  small  as 
any  girl's.  "  Bueno,"  he  grinned,  when  she  had 
donned  them.     "  I  mek  you  spurs,  too,  sometime." 

Thus  by  one  and  another  was  Cherry  outfitted — 
not  omitting  quilts  and  blankets  for  a  bed.  Her  old 
clothing  which  she  did  not  need  she  disdainfully  flung 
away. 

Quite  unexpectedly  to  himself  Phil  shared  in  the 
distribution  of  things.  There  was  not  much  riding 
done  during  the  remainder  of  this  day,  for  by  the 
time  dinner  had  been  eaten  'twas  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon.  As  the  men  lounged  about,  the  captured 
rifle  was  passed  from  hand  to  hand  and  casually 
examined. 

"  I  reckon  this  is  yore's,"  said  Buster,  gravely,  ex- 
tending it  to  Phil. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  answered  Phil,  astonished.  "  Pete 
and  Haney  took  it" 


244  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  Have  one  already,"  spoke  Pete.  "  Don*t  want 
two." 

"  Never  tote  a  gun,  myself,"  quoth  Haney. 
"  Traid  of  'em." 

"  Naw ;  it's  yours,  Phil,"  declared  Chet,  eagerly. 
"  Everybody  says  so.     You've  been  wanting  a  rifle." 

"  But "     Phil  hesitated. 

"  Take  it,  boy,"  urged  Mr.  Simms.  "  You  de- 
serve it.  They  gave  you  a  hard  fall.  Might  have 
broke  your  neck." 

Phil  took  it.  Flushing  with  pleasure  he  turned  it 
over  and  over,  scrutinizing  its  every  point.  It  was 
his  first  real  rifle,  and  it  seemed  the  more  real  to  him 
because  it  was  one  of  the  spoils  of  war.  He  might 
have  wished  that  he  had  not  gained  it  through  the 
death  of  a  man — but  in  his  hands  it  was  safer  to  the 
community  than  when  in  a  rustler's  and  bandit's. 
And  this  was  the  law  of  the  range :  that  the  un- 
desirable habitant  must  leave,  if  not  by  one  way  then 
by  another. 

Chet  joined  him  in  the  scrutiny.  The  gun  was  a 
•30-30  carbine,  as  light  as  a  ,22  target  gun  but  very 
much  more  powerful.  Its  wood  showed  tokens  of 
travels  through  brush,  but  the  metal  was  free  from 
rust,  and  the  mechanism  seemed  to  have  been  per- 
fectly cared  for.  Evidently  the  owner  had  appre- 
ciated that  a  firearm  to  be  a  friend  in  need  must  be 
given  proper  care. 

"  Bet  she  shoots  as  good  as  mine,"  declared  Chet, 
as  they  examined  it. 

"  Now  you  come  up  to  my  boss  camp,"   invited 


MISTRESS    CHERRY    JOINS    CAMP     245 

Hombre,  with  white  teeth  flashing  from  his  sunny 
face.     "  We  kill  bear,  lion,  bob-cat — ever't'ing." 

"  They're  up  on  the  summer  range,  just  as  much,'* 
averred  Chet.  "  I'll  have  my  rifle  there,  too.  We'll 
carry  rifles  when  we  ride.  But  you  haven't  got  any 
scabbard." 

"  Take  the  one  that  belongs  with  it,  off  the  saddle/' 
proposed  Pete,  from  his  dishwashing. 

"  Take  saddle  and  all,"  directed  Mr.  Simms. 
"  Might  as  well  have  the  whole  outfit.  That's  your 
saddle  and  your  bridle  from  now  on." 

"  Sure,"  murmured  several  voices. 

Phil  scarcely  could  credit  that  he  was  at  last  on 
a  footing  with  the  other  men.  He  examined  the 
saddle  and  the  bridle.  They  were  in  good  condition 
— worn  just  enough,  like  the  rifle,  to  avoid  the  sus- 
picion which  attaches  to  newness.  In  his  equipment 
for  the  range  Phil  was  now  a  veteran. 

"  Better  give  him  the  hawss,  too,"  grunted  Old 
Jess,  whether  in  sarcasm  or  in  earnest  no  one  might 
tell. 

"He  belongs  to  Cherry's  string,"  observed  Mr. 
Simms,  quietly. 

"  Don't  belong  to  nobody's  string,  yet,"  corrected 
Pete.  "Looks  as  if  he  belonged  to  the  Key  ranch, 
down  in  Texas." 

"  But  he  was  bought.  I  heard  them  say  so,"  de- 
clared Cherry. 

"  Cain't  prove  that,  now,  'cause  we  buried  the  bill 
o'  sale,"  drawled  Haney. 

"Didn't  you  search  the  man?" 


246  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  No,  suh.  Didn't  have  time.  Coroner  can  do 
that,  if  he  wants  to." 

"  Well — we'll  keep  the  hawss,  along  with  those 
others  that  have  strange  brands,  till  we  find  the 
owners." 

"  Lookee  here.  Smith- Jones,"  directed  Haney,  who 
had  been  fingering  the  rifle  with  a  certain  aptitude  and 
grimness  which  belied  his  allegations  of  ignorance  as 
to  firearms.  "Got  a  notch  in  the  stock;  mus'  have 
killed  its  man !  " 

Phil  peered,  horrified.  But  the  notch  was  only  a 
nick  from  a  scratch,  he  claimed. 

"Maybe,"  admitted  the  Texan.  "But  I  reckon 
you'll  go  to  fillin'  it  plumb  full  o'  notches.  Smith- 
Jones  is  suhtinly  the  bad  name  of  a  bad  man." 

"  Put  a  notch  in  it  right  now,  if  yuh  want  to," 
grunted  Old  Jess.  "  Somebody's  got  to  kill  that 
critter." 

For  the  cowboy  Dick  came  riding  in,  leading  at  his 
rope  end  a  stout  red  and  white  calf  half  grown.  Be- 
hind, the  Three  I  man  urged  it  on. 

"  Meat  foh  the  camp,"  murmured  the  Texan. 

"  Go  ahead  and  try  your  gun,  Phil,"  prompted 
Ford.     "  You'll  never  have  a  better  chance." 

"  Ca'tridges  are  in  the  wagon,"  said  Pete.  "  I  un- 
loaded it." 

Phil  hesitantly  took  the  carbine  from  Haney. 

"  Here,"  said  Ford.  He  slipped  in  a  couple  of 
cartridges — slim,  wicked  things — and  restored  the 
gun  to  Phil's  hands.  Still  Phil  hesitated.  He  hated 
to  do  the  deed.     It  did  not  seem  to  him  very  credit- 


MISTRESS    CHERRY   JOINS    CAMP    247 

able  to  shoot  at  a  calf  tied  by  a  rope  so  that  it  was 
helpless.     A  calf  was  not  "  game,"  anyway. 

"  If  it  isn't  shot  it'll  be  knocked  on  the  head,"  said 
Mr.  Simms. 

"  Got  to  have  meat  for  supper,  boys,"  declared  the 
cook.     "  Plumb  out  *cept  a  little  bacon." 

"  Give  me  the  gim.     I'll  shoot,"  invited  Chet. 

But  Phil,  seeing  that  the  calf  was  doomed,  walked 
slowly  toward  it. 

"  Don't  shoot  into  camp,"  warned  Mr.  Simms. 

"  No.  Don't  yuh  go  shootin'  me,  Smith-Jones," 
called  Haney.     "  I  might  not  laik  it." 

The  calf  sturdily  standing  with  head  lowered,  fac- 
ing the  camp,  eyeing  its  human  enemies  and  panting 
after  its  endeavor  to  break  its  tether,  now  turned  and 
faced  Phil  as  he  made  a  half  circuit ;  followed  him  as 
if  recognizing  in  him  a  new  tormentor.  Phil  cocked 
the  gun  and  raised  it  to  his  shoulder.  He  held  the 
tip  of  the  sight  upon  the  center  of  the  calf's  forehead. 
A  great  pity  for  the  innocent,  defenseless  animal 
welled  within  him,  as  his  finger  remorselessly  tight- 
ened against  the  trigger.  He  could  only  trust  that 
his  shot  was  to  be  a  shot  of  mercy. 

One  of  those  countless  animals  termed  "dumb," 
which  are  reared  but  to  die  at  the  will  of  man,  the 
calf  felt  in  the  round  muzzle  opening  at  it  a  menace. 
It  lowed  tremulously  as  if  to  say :  "  Do  your  worst." 

Holding  his  breath  for  steadiness  Phil  fired. 
Almost  before  the  slight  recoil  the  calf  had  collapsed 
in  a  heap  upon  the  ground,  so  instantaneous  was  its 
end.     Phil  was  immensely  relieved. 


248 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  Right  to  the  center,"  quoth  Dick,  dismounting 
from  his  horse. 

The  little  gun  shot  true. 

"  Hurt  the  brains  any  ?  "  queried  Pete,  anxiously. 

"Narry,"  asserted  the  Three  I  man.  "Just 
blovved  the  top  of  its  head  open." 

''Ought  to  be  careful  an'  shoot  'em  behind  the 
ear,"  grumbled  Pete.  "  Liable  to  scatter  the  brains 
all  over.     Brains  are  best  part." 

"  Is  it  dead  ? "  faltered  Cherry,  who  had  been 
standing  with  eyes  shut  tight  and  fingers  in  ears. 

"  Changed  to  veal  shore  now.  Miss,"  informed 
Buster.     "  Coin'  to  eat  him  up  next." 

"  Poor  thing,"  said  Cherry,  opening  her  eyes,  but 
looking  away. 

The  men  dressed  the  veal  and  hung  it  in  the 
branches  of  a  cedar,  with  a  tarpaulin  over  it. 

"  For  seventeen  years  I  rode  with  a  Winchester 
under  my  leg,"  announced  Mr.  Simms,  the  veteran. 
"  Rarely  carry  a  gun,  now.  You'd  better  leave  your 
gun  in  the  wagon,  boy.  It'll  be  ketching  on  the 
brush,  you'll  find,  and  may  cause  you  trouble  when 
you're  running  an  animal  through  the  timber." 

The  work  of  the  roundup  proceeded.  'Twas  rid- 
ing, riding,  riding,  o'er  slope  and  level,  through  cedar 
and  sage,  gravel  and  clay  and  alkali,  while  the  saddle 
grew  hot  and  throat  and  eyes  grew  parched,  and  the 
sun  beat  hard  and  dust  enveloped,  and  man  and  horse 
perspired  together  in  fretful  activity.  Ever  the 
cattle,  unwilling  mother  and  unruly  bachelor,  fright- 
ened little  calf  and  burly  bull,  were  routed  from  their 


MISTRESS    CHERRY   JOINS    CAMP     249 

chosen  coverts  and  drifted  across  the  country  to  join, 
bawling,  with  the  bunches  gone  before. 

"They're  going  to  brand  the  calves  to-morrow," 
informed  Chet. 

The  Coyote  Springs  camp  was  a  thing  of  the  past, 
and  now  the  roundup  was  moving  on.  Like  any  full- 
fledged  cowboy  Phil,  sitting  his  own  saddle,  aboard 
Medicine  Eye,  by  the  side  of  Chet  his  partner,  was 
helping  with  the  drive  of  the  gather  from  the  Coyote 
territory. 

"  Oh !  '^  said  Cherry.    "  Then  I  shan't  watch." 

Keeping  close  to  the  two  boys,  she  had  overheard. 
A  good  range-girl  Cherry  had  proved.  She  could 
catch  her  horse  out  of  the  rope  corral,  and  could  do 
her  own  saddling  and  bridling.^  She  could  ride  as 
far  as  anybody ;  Chet  and  Phil  found  out  that  she  re- 
quired no  odds,  when  she  accompanied  them.  But 
she  would  not  watch  a  branding.  Whenever  a 
maverick  was  to  be  thrown,  she  was  absent. 

All  that  day  the  march  continued.  The  wagon 
and  the  horse-herd  were  ahead.  Behind,  the  gather 
followed,  constantly  increasing  as  from  right  and  left 
fresh  batches  of  animals  were  added.  At  noon  halt 
was  made,  where  the  wagon  had  stopped,  for  a  water- 
less cold  lunch  in  a  grassy  basin. 

The  only  excitement  of  the  route  was  caused  by  a 
sharp-horned  steer  who,  pausing  to  fight  upon  a  nar- 
row passage,  was  shoved  off  into  a  narrow  sink-hole. 
Wedged  at  the  bottom,  ten  feet  down,  he  was  help- 
less. First  a  spade  was  used,  in  an  attempt  to  dig  a 
slope  which  he  might  ascend.     But  such  a  plan  proved 


250 


BAR   B    BOYS 


too  sk>w;  and  while  Ford,  with  the  spade,  carelessly 
afoot,  watched,  and  Phil  held  his  breath,  and  Cherry 
vainly  expostulated,  by  eight  ropes  upon  his  horns 
as  many  horsemen,  pulling  all  together,  hauled  him 
out  bodily.  It  seemed  as  if  the  steer  would  have  his 
neck  dislocated;  but  amidst  a  cheer  he  came  scram- 
bling, grunting  to  the  rim.  A  moment  he  stood  con- 
fused and  irresolute.  The  men  hastily  cast  off,  as 
they  might,  one  after  another. 

"  Wait !  Wait !  "  appealed  Ford,  suddenly  real- 
izing his  predicament.  For  his  horse  he  raced,  in 
his  chaps,  spade  across  shoulder,  and  with  a  snort 
the  steer,  seeing  redly,  charged  him. 

A  slight  cheer  started;  but  the  situation  was  too 
perilous.  Haney's  rope  snapped;  the  steer  was  free 
— when  Buster,  racing  by,  leaning  from  the  saddle 
grabbed  the  trailing  portion,  turned  short,  braced  his 
willing  horse,  and  threw  the  steer  head  under  heels, 
whether  he  broke  its  neck  or  no.  A  clever,  dashing 
piece  of  work,  this,  by  Buster. 

The  steer  lay  stunned.  And  by  the  time,  with  all 
ropes  removed  and  Ford  safely  horseback,  it  stag- 
gered to  his  feet,  its  ungrateful  resenting  of  things 
human  had  cooled  to  normal. 

Everybody  could  laugh  now ;  even  Ford. 

"That  or  steer's  naik  is  a  full  foot  longer  than  it 
used  to  be,"  declared  Haney. 

"  Grew  longer  still,  a-reachin'  out  to  prod  Ford," 
chuckled  Dick. 

"  By  thunder,  if  it  had  been  an  inch  or  so  more 
'twould  have  got  him,  too !  "  asserted  Mr.  Simms. 


MISTRESS    CHERRY   JOINS    CAMP     251 

Across  a  high  and  tangled  ridge  where  the  wind 
blew  icily  toiled  the  drive,  to  pour  down  upon  the 
farther  side.  This  was  hard  riding,  through  the 
brush ;  tongues  were  hanging  far,  calves  were  lagging 
and  cow  and  steer  were  continuously  turning  aside,  to 
rest.  But  the  end  was  near.  Amidst  the  slanting 
shadows  the  herd  traversed  a  level  draw,  which  open- 
ing out  displayed  to  view  another  mass  of  cattle 
scattered  through  and  peacefully  grazing  or  dully 
staring. 

This  was  the  result  of  the  first  camp's  gather.  The 
drive  quickened.  But  leaving  it,  with  a  whoop  of 
joy  the  riders  all  swung  out  around  it,  and  galloped 
madly  past  both  herds  to  unsaddle  at  the  mess  wagon, 
waiting  there  beyond. 

To-morrow  was  the  branding.  Spread  out 
through  the  sage  the  camp  slept  soundly,  men  and 
boys  beneath  their  tarpaulins.  Cherry  inside  her  dog 
tent,  preparing  for  the  next  task.  The  tired  new- 
comers among  the  cattle  needed  no  night-herding,  the 
others  were  content,  and  the  horses  were  well  pas- 
tured, well  watered,  not  inclined  to  stray.  So  the 
camp,  from  Pete  the  cook  to  Bud  the  wrangler,  might 
sleep,  and  sleep  at  peace. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 


THE    BRANDING    OF   THE    CALVES 


The  draw  opened  between  steep  sandstone  cliffs 
into  the  usual  sage  and  greasewood  flat;  and  here 
opposite  the  mouth  the  camp  had  been  located.  For 
the  wagon  had  halted  near  the  high  bank  of  a  muddy 
creek,  and  where  the  chuck-wagon  was,  camp  was. 

"  We'll  hold  'em  up  against  the  rim-rock,  boys," 
said  Old  Jess,  as  all,  save  cook  and  wrangler,  rode 
out  in  the  morning  sun.  Making  a  brave  show,  they 
trotted,  then  in  a  gallop  they  swept  four  abreast 
across  the  silver-gray  brush,  after  their  breather  pull- 
ing their  horses  down  to  a  walk. 

Widely  through  the  flat  and  draw  were  scattered 
the  cattle ;  dropping  aside  by  ones  and  twos  the  riders 
diverged  right  and  left,  seeking  out  the  draw  and  all 
the  ramifications  thereof,  and  scouring  the  flat,  until 
pouring  in  to  a  central  point  against  the  rim-rock 
wall  by  the  mouth  of  the  draw  the  cattle — old,  young, 
cow,  calf,  steer  and  bull — formed  a  loose,  uneasy,  bel- 
lowing, parti-colored  mass. 

With  Chet  as  partner,  and  accompanied  by  Cherry, 
Phil  had  done  his  share  in  the  gather — upon  Bowlegs 
swooping  at  glorious  gallop  to  get  in  behind  far- 
grazing  animals;  plunging  through  arroyo,  leaping 
little  ditch  and  badger-hole,  crashing  against  tall  sage 

252 


BRANDING    OF   THE   CALVES        253 

and  greasewood;  finally,  after  sundry  chases  of  re- 
fractory beasts,  turning  them  in  the  right  direction. 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  men  were  now  busy  riding 
back  and  forth  on  the  outside  of  the  herd,  heading 
off  the  members  who  were  inclined  to  stray.  Many 
of  the  cattle  stood,  inert;  others,  particularly  mothers 
who  had  temporarily  lost  their  children,  roamed  here 
and  there,  bawling ;  and  these,  and  still  others  ever  and 
anon  set  forth  in  deliberate  attempt  to  leave  their 
confines  for  some  spot  elsewhere. 

Thus  there  was  a  constantly  threatened  leakage, 
stopped  at  every  point  by  the  riders. 

Forty  or  fifty  yards  from  the  herd  out  on  the  flat 
Haney  was  chopping  with  an  ax.  Old  Jess  came  rid- 
ing from  the  camp  with  a  bundle  of  stamp-irons — 
brands  set  at  the  end  of  four-foot  rods — under  his 
arm.  Mr.  Simms,  the  Flying  U  man  and  one  or  two 
others  were  building  a  bonfire  of  sage  stalks  and 
some  larger  pieces.  Henry  and  Ford  lay  lazily  near, 
as  if  their  work  was  yet  in  prospect.  The  saddled 
horses  of  all  stood  dozing  by.  Bud  the  wrangler 
approached  at  a  trot,  snaking  along  a  cedar  stump. 

"  That's  right,"  approved  Old  Jess,  clanking  down 
his  irons.  "You  lads  fetch  in  all  the  wood  you  can 
find.  There's  a  pile  of  it  near  the  head  of  that  arroyo 
yonder,  where  some  old  beaver  dam  was  washed  out. 
And  there's  cedar  on  the  mesas." 

"  I  know  of  a  lot  more,"  said  Bud,  the  consequen- 
tial; and  spurred  away.  Chet  and  Cherry  together 
and  Phil  took  different  directions — Phil  leaving  to 
them  the  arroyo  hoard.     By  the  time  the  quota  of  all 


254  BAR   B    BOYS 

had  been  delivered  the  fire  was  blazing,  and  the  irons 
had  been  thrust  in. 

"  That's  enough,"  decreed  Old  Jess,  gruffly,  after 
the  second  trips.  "  Now  we  want  a  fire-tender  and 
a  tally  man." 

"  I'll  tend  fire,"  announced  Mistress  Cherry. 

Old  Jess  eyed  her  doubtfully  with  a  "  Humph ! " 

"  Purty  hot  work,"  he  grunted.  "  One  o'  you  show 
this  boy  how  to  keep  tally,  then.  He  may  have  been 
to  school  but  I  reckon  he  never  learned  to  read 
brands.  Wrangler  can  help  the  gal  tend  fire,  case 
she  peters  out  on  us." 

Mr.  Simms  pulled  out  an  envelope  from  his  hip 
pocket. 

*'  Who's  got  a  pencil  ?  "  he  invited. 

The  Open  A  man  contributed  a  stub. 

"  Here,  boy,"  directed  the  rancher.  "Here  are 
all  the  brands  you're  likely  to  have:   "5    Bar  B;/\ 

open  A ;  C-^  Lazy  J ;  9\  Reverse  R ;  \f  Flying  U ; 
Zi  +  Triangle  Cross ;  ^JJ^  Three  I ;  j^  Boot.  Mark 
'em  up  opposite  by  fives — four  straight  lines  and  a 
diagonal." 

"Like  this — see?"  put  in  Bud,  prompt  to  air 
his    superior   knowledge.     And    he    sketched   in    the 

dust    rm 

The  veteran  cowman,  ignoring  him,  drew  his  own 
diagram,  even  though  identical,  and  Phil  regarded 
that. 

"  Aw,  I  used  to  keep  tally  before  I  got  to  wran- 
glin',"  proclaimed  Bud. 


BRANDING    OF   THE   CALVES        255 

"Yes,"  drawled  Mr.  Simms;  "and  Phil  used  to 
wrangle  before  he  was  put  to  keeping  tally." 

"  Wranglin'  's  the  bigger  job,"  protested  Bud, 
eagerly. 

"  Um-m-m,"  inurmured  the  veteran.  "It's  just 
big  enough  to  keep  some  people  at  it  all  their  lives. 
That's  their  limit.  Phil,  here,  's  a  pretty  good  cow- 
hand already." 

"  He  can't  rope  much." 

"  No ;  but  he's  got  cow  sense.  That's  the  most 
important.     Roping  '11  come  later." 

To  Phil  the  compliment  seemed  a  little  doubtful; 
yet  he  was  grateful  for  the  defense  made  in  his  be- 
half. Bud,  as  if  perceiving  a  rebuke,  flushed  and 
would  boldly  have  continued  the  discussion,  but  the 
cowman  turned  away,  somewhat  contemptuously; 
moreover,  the  business  of  the  day  was  about  to  claim 
all  attention. 

In  the  saddle  Ford  and  Henry  waited.  Old  Jess 
drew  out  a  branding  iron,  from  the  fire,  and  spat 
upon  it  to  test  its  temperature. 

"  All  ready  ?  "  remarked  Ford.  He  turned  Lone- 
some's  head,  and  taking  down  his  rope,  recoiled  it, 
riding  leisurely  to  the  herd.  At  a  slightly  different 
angle  Henry,  preparing  likewise,  also  rode  away. 

On  the  edge  of  the  herd  Ford  and  Lonesome 
paused,  and  peered  within.  But  immediately  they 
started  on  again,  Ford  shaking  out  his  loop.  Lone- 
some with  ears  pricked,  nose  forward.  The  loop  be- 
gan to  swing  over  Ford's  head,  in  a  beautifully  regu- 
lar elliptic ;  the  reins  hung  loose  upon  Lonesome's  neck, 


256  BAR   B    BOYS 

who,  ears  still  pricked,  nose  out,  like  a  big  dog  fol- 
lowing a  hot  trail,  ambled  persistently  in  the  wake  of  a 
little  white  calf.  The  calf,  suddenly  vaguely  alarmed 
to  find  itself  being  pestered,  dodged  from  side  to  side 
of  its  mother,  and  she,  also  alarmed,  shoved  hither 
and  thither,  to  lead  it  from  the  danger  zone.  But 
Lonesome — wise  fellow — now  that  he  had  "  spotted  " 
his  master's  choice,  was  not  to  be  denied.  Slowly 
and  menacingly  swung  the  loop  until  at  a  sudden 
opportunity,  it  shot  lazily  forward.  Phil  saw  Ford 
jerk  sharply  upward;  the  rope  tightened,  like  a  fish 
line;  Lonesome  turned,  of  himself,  and  made  at  a 
quick  walk  for  the  fire,  Ford  sitting  nonchalantly, 
half  sideways,  to  give  play  to  the  rope  stretched  over 
his  right  thigh,  while  behind,  hauled  from  the  herd 
like  a  fish  from  a  pool,  plunging  and  bucking  and 
baa-ing,  followed  the  little  white  calf,  caught  by 
the  neck.  Just  behind  it  came  the  old  mammy,  her 
nose  almost  touching  its  tail,  on  her  blazed  face  a 
singularly  worried,  inquiring  expression,  as  if  she 
wondered  what  under  the  canopy  ailed  that  child. 

She  halted,  to  gaze.  Lonesome  dragged  the  bound- 
ing calf  nearer  the  fire.  Dick  and  Buster  ran  to 
meet  it. 

"  Bar  B,"  announced  Ford. 

Dick  seized  it,  grabbed  it  by  the  neck  and  the 
slack  of  its  flank,  and  with  a  deft  lift  and  thrust  of 
his  knee  flopped  it  flatly  upon  its  side. 

"  One  calf  wrastled,"  quoth  Haney.  "  Tally  him, 
Smith-Jones." 

Having  "  wrestled  "  it,  Dick  cast  off  the  loop,  he 


BRANDING    OF   THE   CALVES        257 

and  Buster  sat  at  either  end,  and  braced  in  the  ap- 
proved fashion  held  the  animal,  Old  Jess  bent  over 
and  with  his  knife,  sniffed  a  piece  from  the  ear,  put- 
ting it  in  his  vest  pocket.  Loudly  bawled  the  calf. 
The  Open  A  man  firmly  pressed  a  cherry-red  stamp- 
iron  to  the  flank.     The  hair  smoked,  the  hide  sizzled. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  stand  this  !  "  declared  Cherry ;  and 
running  to  her  horse  she  was  away  in  a  jiffy,  desert- 
ing her  post. 

Nobody  had  time  to  comment.  Bud  the  wrangler 
proceeded  to  be  sole  fire  tender. 

"Triangle  Cross,"  hailed  Henry,  dragging  up  his 
calf. 

Another  gang — Haney  and  Chet  to  do  the  wrest- 
ling or  flanking,  Mr.  Simms  and  the  Flying  U  man 
to  do  the  marking  and  branding — hastened  for  it. 

Phil  scored  a  tally  opposite  the  ^  +  sign  on  his 
envelope. 

"  Lazy  J,"  announced  Ford,  who,  having  re-coiled 
his  rope,  had  made  another  round  trip. 

Dick  and  Buster  pounced  upon  it. 

"  Three  L" 

"  Boot." 

"Bar  B." 

"Bar  B." 

"Lazy  J." 

"  Flying  U." 

"Bar  B." 

"Lazy  J." 

"Reverse  R." 

"  Open  A." 


258 


BAR   B    BOYS 


In  rapid  succeasion  the  titles  were  proclaimed; 
but  never  once  did  Old  Jess  or  Mr.  Simms  hesitate 
over  an  ear-mark.  They  knew  instantly  which  ap- 
plied to  which.  'Twas  to  them  like  A,  B,  C.  Thick 
and  fast  arrived  the  calves,  for  picking  at  first  was 
easy.  They  arrived  in  all  manner  of  positions — on 
their  sides,  on  their  backs,  on  their  heads,  or  bracing 
their  forelegs,  depending  haw  they  were  hooked. 
Ford  and  Henry  seemed  to  care  little  where  the  loop 
fell,  so  long  as  it  caught  neck,  leg  or  body.  The 
mammy  cows  usually  followed  a  little  way,  puzzled, 
and  stood  bewildered  and  anxious.  Released  from 
its  ordeal,  each  calf  ran  blatting  and  unsteady  back 
to  find  its  mother,  to  be  nosed  and  licked,  and  given 
a  drink.  Occasionally  a  spunky  calf  charged  its  late 
tormentors,  as  a  parting  token.  And  occasionally 
one  arose  so  pitiably  dizzy  that  it  must  be  turned 
around  by  hand  and  pointed  in  the  right  direction. 

Phil's  envelope  was  becoming  crowded — the  num- 
ber of  Bar  B  rail-fence  sections,  each  section  repre- 
senting five  calves,  being  double  that  of  any  other. 
This  was  pleasing  to  him,  as  a  Bar  B  man.  The 
branding  squads,  particularly  the  flankers,  were  red 
and  perspiring  and  weary.  The  herd,  filled  with 
smarting,  cowed  or  indignant  youngsters,  was  rife 
also  with  an  angry,  uneasy  bellowing,  as  the  steers 
and  the  three  bulls  smelled  the  blood. 

The  calves  were  coming  to  the  fire  with  less  regu- 
larity, now.  The  branding  squads  took  turns  tack- 
ling them. 

"  How  many  tallied  ?  "  demanded  Old  Jess. 


BRANDING    OF   THE   CALVES        259 

Phil  counted  with  his  pencil.  "  Two  hundred  and 
six,"  he  proclaimed. 

"  Gee  !  "  commented  Chet. 

There  was  a  lull.  Ford  and  Henry  were  riding 
about  through  the  herd,  their  loops  hanging,  their 
eyes  searching  for  other  victims.  The  branding 
squads  had  thrown  themselves  on  the  ground.  Haney 
the  Texan  wiped  his  scarlet  countenance  with  a  limp 
bandanna  only  less  scarlet. 

"I  move  Smith-Jones  wrastle  the  next  calf,"  he 
said.     "Too  hahd  work,  this.    Want  to  rest." 

"All  right.     Here  it  comes,"  seconded  Chet. 

Henry  was  making  another  trip,  bringing  a  can- 
didate for  initiation. 

"  She's  a  nice  big  one,"  said  the  Flying  U  man. 

"  Come  along,  Henry,"  encouraged  the  Texan. 
"  Come  a-runnin\  Smith-Jones  is  goin*  to  wrastle 
this  one." 

"Go  an'  grab  it,"  bade  Old  Jess.  "Yuh  saw 
how  it's  done,  didn't  yuh  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  declared  Phil. 

He  gave  his  tally  to  Chet,  and  advanced  with  a 
show  of  more  confidence  than  he  really  felt.  It  was  a 
large  calf — an  unusually  large  calf,  stocky  and  active, 
caught  by  the  neck  and  cavorting  and  maa-ing. 

"Lazy  J,"  called  Henry. 

"  Grab  him,  Smith-Jones,"  exhorted  Haney. 

Phil  darted  in,  crowded  against  the  calf,  and  reach- 
ing over,  tried  to  seize  her,  lift  her  and  flop  her.  The 
operation  had  looked  easy,  but ! 

The  calf  was  soft  and  warm  in  his  grasp.     He 


26o 


BAR   B    BOYS 


could  feel  its  heart  beating  a  wild  pitty-pat  under 
his  fingers.  Once,  twice,  thrice  he  lifted.  The  crea- 
ture's hoofs  left  the  ground  a  few  inches,  sprawled 
in  all  directions,  but  landed  again  practically  as  be- 
fore. 

*^ Heave  ho!" 

"  Wrastle  him,  Smith-Jones." 

"  Go  to  it,  boy  !  " 

The  calf  bawled  and  struggled.  From  his  saddle 
Henry  gazed,  smiling  faintly.     He  waited. 

"  Somebody  help  him.  Want  my  rope,"  he  ap- 
pealed, with  plaintive,  patient  tone. 

"Aw,  I'll  throw  him,"  announced  Bud,  the  wran- 
gler, rushing  in. 

"  Yuh  won't  throw  him.  That's  a  her"  derided 
somebody — at  which  there  were  sniggers. 

But  at  that  instant,  exerting  more  strength,  Phil 
raised  the  calf  high.  It  kicked  furiously,  and  over 
he  went  backwards,  calf  on  top.  Bud  flung  himself 
forward.  The  spectators  deliriously  cheered.  From 
the  melee  of  calf  and  Phil  the  former  had  emerged, 
triumphant,  and  was  bolting.  Burning  to  distinguish 
himself,  Bud  now  dived  for  it.  The  rope  brought 
it  up  short  and  whirled  about  it  met  him  head-on. 
Doubled  over,  face  to  its  tail,  behold  the  impulsive 
Bud  a-straddle  of  the  calf's  neck  and  riding  rapidly 
about  the  arena. 

The  near  spectators  were  gasping  with  glee.  From 
the  horsemen  gazing,  on  the  edge  of  the  herd,  came 
whoops. 

"  Which  way  you  goin',  boy  ?  "  queried  Haney. 


BRANDING    OF   THE   CALVES        261 

"He  ain't  a  hawss-jingler;  he's  a  calf-buster," 
quoth  Old  Jess. 

Staggering  to  his  feet,  regardless  of  his  swollen 
lips  and  swimming  head,  Phil  rushed  gallantly  to 
the  rescue.  The  science  of  flanking  was  thrown  to 
the  winds;  'twas  a  rough  and  tumble.  Bud  sprawled 
off  sideways;  the  calf  rolled  on  top  of  him;  Phil 
floundered  a-top  the  calf,  and  presently  out  of  the 
dust  of  hurly-burly,  the  panting  and  grunting  and 
bawling,  evolved  calm  and  the  sight  of  two  exhausted 
boys  lying  across  an  exhausted  calf. 

"  Somebody  give  me  my  rope,"  pleaded  Henry. 
"  I'm  tired  o'  sittin'  here." 

"One  calf  wrestled;  one  hour,"  remarked  Mr. 
Simms,  grimly,  as,  with  the  others  of  his  squad  he 
moved  forward  to  mark  and  brand.  "  Wouldn't  get 
through  a  very  big  bunch  in  a  day." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  mouth,  boy  ? " 
asked  Dick. 

"  Calf  put  its  foot  right  in  it,"  accused  Phil,  dab- 
bling gingerly. 

"  Case  o'  calf  wrastlin'  boy,  that  was,"  said  Buster. 

"  Branded  one  hundred  twenty  calves  in  one  hour 
once,  where  I  was,"  drawled  Haney,  as  he  held  the 
present  victim's  hind  quarters.  "  Didn't  nobody  get 
kicked  in  the  mouth,  either,"  he  added,  slyly. 

"  That  was  using  a  corral,  tho',  wasn't  it  ?  "  grunted 
Mr.  Simms. 

"  Yes,  suh.  Corral,  two  ropers,  plenty  irons,  lot 
o'  flankers  an'  branders;  all  one  brand — double  quar- 
ter cuhcle." 


262  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  That's  the  last  animal.  Don't  see  any  more/' 
reported  Ford,  arriving  from  the  herd. 

"  All  right."  Old  Jess  whoo-eed  to  the  horsemen 
riding  herd,  and  waved  them  in.  With  a  series  of 
yelps  they  raced  for  camp  and  chuck  wagon.  "  Guess 
they  mus'  reckon  it's  dinner  time,"  commented  Old 
Jess,  with  the  flicker  of  a  smile. 

He  kicked  aside  the  embers,  and  began  to  stamp 
them  out.  The  others  aided.  The  stout  calf,  now 
much  less  spirited,  was  with  her  mammy,  and  being 
comforted. 

"  Say,  but  it  must  have  kicked  you  !  "  giggled 
Chet,  surveying  Phil. 

"  I'd  have  wrastled  him,  but  I  didn't  have  a  good 
chance,"  claimed  Bud. 

"  Aw,  if  he  hadn't  had  a  rope  on  him  he'd  have 
run  away  with  you  !  "  jeered  Chet. 

"  I've  got  to  bring  in  the  horses,"  announced  Bud, 
thus  excusing  himself  to  gallop  off. 

"  He's  too  fresh,"  declared  Chet,  to  Phil.  "  You'd 
make  a  better  hand  than  he  would,  now,  and  he's 
lived  out  here  all  his  life.  He's  big  on  the  tell,  is 
all." 

Squatting,  Old  Jess  and  Mr.  Simms  were  gravely 
fishing  bits  of  reddish  fuzzy  leather  from  their  vest 
pockets  and  counting  them. 

"They's  counting  ears  and  dewlaps,"  said  Chet, 
explaining. 

"  What's  that  tally  ?  "  again  demanded  Old  Jess. 

Phil  once  more  summed  up. 

"  Two  hundred  and  seven,  now." 


BRANDING    OF   THE   CALVES        263 

"  That's  right,  ain't  it  ?  "  suggested  Old  Jess,  to 
his  companion.     "  Hundred  an'  nine,  mine." 

"  Ninety-seven,  here,"  responded  Mr.  Simms, 
anxiously,  exploring  his  pockets.  His  face  light- 
ened. "  Oh,  I  know  ! "  he  remarked.  "  Forgot  to 
save  that  last  big  fellow.  They  wrestled  her  so  quick, 
sorter  took  my  breath  away  !  " 

"Grub  pi-ile,"  sighed  Haney.  He  mounted.  So 
did  all,  and  rode  for  the  wagon. 

The  herd,  left  to  its  own  devices,  slowly  wan- 
dered. 

"But  supposing  there  isn't  any  mark,"  proffered 
Phil. 

"All  the  stock  in  this  district  is  marked,"  answered 
Ford.  "  But  where  there  happens  to  be  a  brand 
without  other  mark  I  suppose  the  pieces  would  agree 
with  their  own  brands  and  the  tally  would  account 
for  the  rest." 

"  How  do  you  tell  what  brand,  every  time  ?  "  per- 
sisted Phil. 

"  Tell  by  the  old  cow.  Each  calf  takes  its  mammy's 
brand.  We  see  what  cow  the  calf  sticks  to,  in  the 
herd." 

"  But  supposing  the  cow  and  calf  have  got  sep- 
arated." 

"Well — that  doesn't  happen  if  we're  all  careful. 
There's  a  lot  in  handling  a  herd  easily,  and  in  cutting 
out  without  stirring  it  all  up.  You  have  to  use  cow 
sense!* 

So  for  the  second  time  Phil  heard  the  phrase;  and 
he  began  to  understand  it. 


264  BAR   B    BOYS 

Everybody  had  washed  and  dinner  was  being  given 
final  preparatory  touches  by  Pete,  before  someone 
thought  to  ask,  suddenly :     "  Where's  the  girl  ?  " 

"  Sure.     Where's  Cherry  ?  " 

The  camp  looked  about,  at  first  languidly  (for  it 
was  tired),  then  with  more  interest. 

"  She  was  almost  a-top  the  mesa  yonder,  when  I 
last  seen  her,"  said  Pete.  "Come  to  the  wagon  an' 
then  rode  off  again.'* 

A  little  thrill  of  apprehension  stirred  the  camp; 
Old  Jess  rose  to  his  feet,  and  peered.  Mr.  Simms 
started  for  the  nearest  horse  of  those  that,  with 
cinches  loosened  and  lines  down,  were  sleepily  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  cavvy. 

"  There  she  comes,"  he  said,  relieved,  turning 
back. 

Down  the  gravelly  side  of  the  far  mesa,  and  across 
the  brush  of  the  flat  Cherry  approached  at  a  gallop. 

Mr.  Simms  waved  at  her,  once;  and  seated  him- 
self abruptly  as  if  ashamed  of  such  a  display  on  his 
part. 

"  She  hears  the  dinner-bell,  I  reckon,"  observed 
Buster,  as  all  eyed  her  critically  but  not  unkindly. 

However,  Cherry  had  another  topic  uppermost  in 
her  mind. 

"A  whole  flock  of  sheep  is  over  there,  the  other 
side,"  she  proclaimed,  excitedly.  "I  saw  them  and  I 
talked  with  the  herders,  too." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Simms. 

With  hasty  exclamation,  Buster  and  Dick  sprang 
up.    Others  were  about  to  follow. 


BRANDING    OF   THE   CALVES        265 

"  A  great  big  lot  of  sheep,  and  four  or  five  herd- 
ers," repeated  Cherry. 

"  Steady,  steady,  boys,*'  cautioned  Old  Jess.  **  Let's 
hear  the  girl's  story,  first." 

"  No  woolly  ever  is  anything  but  mutton,  on  this 
range,"  decreed  Buster,  hotly.     "Come  on,  boys." 

"  I'm  v^ith  you,"  announced  Pete,  the  cook. 
"  Who'll  lend  me  a  hawss  ?  Why  don't  that  jingler 
fetch  his  bunch  in,  anyway  ?" 

"  Yes,  wait  a  minute,"  urged  Old  Jess.  "  Now, 
girl,  you  say  you  saw  sheep,  did  yuh  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

NO    WOOLLIES    ALLOWED 

"  Yes,  sir.     Lots  and  lots  of  them." 

"  What  were  they  doin'  ?  " 

"  Eating  and  baa-ing,"  informed  Miss  Cherry, 
pertly. 

"  Uh."  And  two  or  three  of  the  men  chuckled. 
"  Were  they  travelin*  ?  " 

"Kind  of,  slowly." 

"  Whose  outfit  are  they  ?     Did  yuh  hear  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Mexican  herders  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.     One  was,  anyway." 

"  What  hees  name  ?  "  demanded  Hombre,  interested. 

"I  don't  know,  Fm  sure,"  responded  Cherry. 

"  Where  they  from.     Did  you  find  out  that  ?  " 

"Utah,  \hty  saidr 

"  What  else  did  they  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  talked  a  long  time.  I  told  them  this  was 
cattle  country,  and  they'd  better  get  out,  and  they 
said  they  had  a  permit  to  cross  it  and  nobody  could 
make  them  get  out.  And  they  asked  me  where  the 
nearest  water  was,  and  invited  me  to  stay  to  dinner, 
but  I  didn't." 

"  How  fur  do  yu  reckon  that  is,  Miss,  to  where 
them  sheep  are  ?  "  asked  Buster,  coolly. 

966 


NO    WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  267 

"  Four  or  five  miles,  I  guess." 

"Jest  a  nice  little  canter,"  continued  Buster. 
"  Cook,  keep  my  dinner  warm  half  an  hour  or  so, 
will  yu?"  He  started  toward  his  horse.  "I'll 
fetch  yu  back  a  mutton.  There'll  be  chili  con  carne 
all  ready  mixed,  over  yonder.  Who's  coming  along 
to  help  pile  up  the  woolHes?" 

The  men,  except  Old  Jess  and  Mr.  Simms,  made 
simultaneous  movement — even  Pete. 

"  If  I  can  get  a  hawss  I'll  pick  out  my  own  mut- 
ton," he  said,  untying  his  apron.  "  Dinner's  ready, 
for  anyone  who  stays." 

"  Hold  on,"  bade  Old  Jess,  without  rising.  "  Hold 
on,  boys.  Take  your  dallies.  We'll  'tend  to  those 
sheep,  but  we  won't  stop  roundup  to  do  it." 

"  Chet,  you  stay  here,"  spoke  Mr.  Simms ;  and  that 
was  sufficient  for  the  two  boys. 

"  Didn't  they  say  that  nobody  could  make  'em  get 
out  ? "  demanded  Buster,  wrathfully.  "  Never  a 
sheepman  lived  could  give  me  that  talk  on  my  own 
range." 

"  We  have  it  from  the  girl's  lips,  straight,"  sup- 
plemented Pete — as  fierce  as  the  fiercest,  and  now 
rummaging  in  the  wagon,  presumably  for  his  rifle. 
"  Who'll  lend  me  a  hawss  ?  " 

"  No  sheep  stay  on  this  range,"  declared  several 
voices,  supported  by  an  assenting  murmur. 

"  Come  along,  fellows,"  invited  Buster,  again  start- 
ing. "If  yu  don't  want  to,  I  can  clean  'em  out 
alone.     I  ain't  beggin'  for  help." 

"  Come  back   an'   set   down,"   ordered  Old  Jess, 


268  BAR    B    BOYS 

testily.  "G€t  off  your  hawss,  gall.  You've  done 
enough  for  one  day." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  make  trouble.  They'll  take 
the  sheep  away,  I  know,  if  you  ask  them  to,"  pleaded 
Cherry,  now  appalled. 

"Ye-es;  we'll  send  'em  a  special  request,  all  done 
up  in  pink  ribbon,"  drawled  Haney. 

"  Write  it  on  sheepskin,"  proposed  the  Open  A 
man;  and  everybody  laughed  with  hard,  meaning 
emphasis. 

"  Set  down ;  set  down,  all  of  yuh,"  reiterated  Old 
Jess.  "  There  comes  the  cavvy.  We  ought  to  change 
hawsses,  anyway.  Cook,  you  said  dinner's  ready, 
didn't  yuh?" 

"  Pick  out  yore  loadin'  tools  an'  pitch  in,"  answered 
Pete. 

"  Yes,  boys,  let's  eat.  Those  sheep'll  wait.  They 
can't  get  away,"  argued  Mr.  Simms.  "  Must  be 
middle  of  afternoon,  already.     I'm  hungry." 

"  Two-thirty,"  informed  Pete. 

Half  reluctantly  the  men  followed  the  example  of 
Old  Jess  and  the  veteran  rancher,  and  first  turning 
loose  their  horses  to  join  the  approaching  herd,  they 
each  selected  eating  utensils,  and  proceeded  to  fill  their 
plates  and  themselves.  But  by  the  resolute  motion 
of  their  jaws  as  they  chewed,  it  could  be  surmised 
that  their  wrath  was  only  smouldering. 

"  Didn't  notice  what  paint  brand  those  sheep  wore, 
did  yu,  Miss?"  inquired  Buster,  gently. 

"  Some  had  a  black  K  on  their  backs." 

"  It's  an  eastern  Utah  outfit,  all  right,"  stated  the 


NO   WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  269 

Open  A  man.  "  Fve  seen  it  when  I  was  ridin'  that 
country." 

With  elaborate  detail  the  men  wiped  up  their  plates, 
to  the  last  vestige  of  gravy  and  sorghum,  and  as 
elaborately  stacked  them  away.  They  fiddled  about, 
lighting  pipes,  rolling  cigarettes,  in  a  covertly  expect- 
ant fashion,  killing  time  until  a  plan  of  action  had 
been  mapped  out.  Pete,  the  cook,  as  though  still 
pugnacious,  rattled  his  pots  and  pans  irritably. 

Old  Jess  arose  and  stretched.  If  he  was  conscious 
of  antagonism  in  the  air  he  did  not  betray  himself. 

"  Get  your  hawsses,  boys,"  he  said.  "  We  can 
move  that  herd  up  a  mile  or  two  an'  start  another 
gather  over  east." 

"  What  about  those  sheep  ?  "  asked  Buster,  direct. 
"  Yu  thinkin'  of  lettin'  sheep  in  on  this  range  ?  If 
yu  are,  I  quit." 

"  Me  too,"  murmured  voices. 

Old  Jess  smiled,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

"  Well,  boys,"  he  said,  "  you  might  all  quit  an' 
yuh  wouldn't  be  hurtin'  me,  pussonally,  at  all.  I 
don't  own  any  o'  the  cattle.  But  you  know  well 
enough  how  much  use  I  got  for  sheep.  I've  punched 
cows  before  some  of  yuh  were  born.  What  I  reck- 
oned was,  a  few  of  us  would  ride  over  to  that  sheep 
camp  this  afternoon  and  see  what's  what.  No  need 
of  stoppin'  the  roundup.  If  a  few  of  us  can't  per- 
suade those  sheep  out,  then  the  whole  of  us  can  take 
a  hand." 

"  That's  the  proper  course,  boys,"  concurred  Mr. 
Simms,      "  This    is    cattle    range,    and    mostly    Bar 


270  BAR   B    BOYS 

B  cows  on  it,  too,  so  I've  got  as  much  interest  as 
anybody  and  can  smell  a  sheep  as  far.  But  we  can 
afford  to  go  slow;  and  if  that  outfit  won't  listen  to 
reason,  why  then  we  can  talk  to  'em  in  a  different 
way." 

"  They  said  they  had  permission,"  reminded  Cherry. 

"  Permission !  "    snorted   Old   Jess,   impolitely. 

He  had  donned  his  chaps,  removed  for  coolness  and 
ease  while  eating ;  and  now  trailing  his  rope,  waddled 
to  the  horse-herd. 

The  fresh  mounts  were  roped  out  and  saddled. 
Others  pulled  on  their  chaps — with  a  certain  grim 
painstakingness  as  if  foreseeing  stern  and  disagreeable 
work. 

"  Seems  to  me  if  George  and  Buster  and  Henry 
and  I  ride  over  to  that  outfit  it'll  be  enough,"  quoth 
Old  Jess.  "  How  about  you.  Buster  ?  You  reckon 
yuh  can  cool  off  an'  let  somebody  else  do  the  talkin'  ?  " 

Buster  grinned. 

"  The  rest  o'  you  can  push  that  herd  up  a  little 
ways,  an'  make  a  short  circle  out  east,"  continued 
the  boss,  swinging  into  his  saddle. 

"  Can't  we  go  with  you  ?  "  appealed  Chet,  anxiously, 
half  to  his  father  and  half  to  Old  Jess. 

"  I'm  not  boss,"  reproved  Mr.  Simms,  significantly. 

Old  Jess  grunted.  The  sound  might  be  interpreted 
either  way,  but  Chet  chose  to  take  the  chance. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said ;  and  he  and  Phil  and  Cherry 
fell  in  behind. 

"  If  there's  any  fun  don't  leave  me  out,  boys," 
plaintively  called  Pete,  as  the  party  rode  away. 


NO    WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  271 

Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  until  they  had  mounted 
the  mesa,  in  the  direction  whence  Cherry  had 
come ;  and  were  riding  across  the  flat,  sagy  top. 

"It's  farther  toward  the  left,"  called  Cherry. 
"  Down  in  a  hollow.     I  didn't  come  straight." 

"  Hear  'em  ? "  said  Old  Jess,  presently. 
"  Humph  !  " 

"  Can  almost  smell  'em  ! "  responded  Henry,  in 
tone  disgusted. 

Phil  strained  his  ears,  and  even  his  nostrils.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  could  catch  a  faint,  multitudi- 
nous murmur,  distant  ahead,  rising  and  falling  in  a 
confused  cadence. 

"  Believe  I  hear  them,  too,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Is 
it  that  sing-song  noise  ?  " 

"  That's  sheep,"  affirmed  Chet,  gravely.  "  There 
must  be  a  big  band  of  'em." 

"  I  said  there  was  a  lot,  didn't  I  ? "  reproved 
Cherry. 

"  What  will  sheep  do,  in  here  ? "  asked  Phil, 
curiously. 

"  They  won't  do  anything.  They  won't  have  a 
chance,"  and  Chet  laughed  shortly.  "The  range 
won't  agree  with  'em.     This  is  cattle  country." 

"  Don't  they  and  cattle  get  along  together  ?  " 

"  Look  at  'em,  will  yuh !  "  growled  Old  Jess,  at 
that  moment. 

Horses  picking  way  amidst  the  brush,  they  had 
been  crossing  the  mesa  at  a  sharp  trot ;  and  now  they 
were  upon  the  farther  edge,  with  a  view  before  and 
below  of  a  shallow  draw  or  swale.     They  paused  to 


272  BAR   B    BOYS 

survey.  Louder  and  yet  more  confused  drifted  to 
Phil's  ears  that  multitudinous  murmur — and  suddenly 
what  he  had  taken  for  sage  clumps,  massed  in  the 
bottom  and  skirting  the  sides,  resolved  themselves 
into  a  thousand  low  bodies  moving  with  a  peculiar 
streaming  effect,  through  the  real  sage.  These  were 
sheep,  in  three  divisions  following  one  another  at  a 
narrow  interval;  behind  each  division  was  a  man 
afoot.  On  the  outside,  opposite  the  rear  of  the  last 
division,  was  a  man  horseback. 

Buster  swore. 

"  Pushing  right  on,  aren't  they,"  remarked  Mr. 
Simms. 

Down  the  slope  plunged  the  squad  at  a  trot  again — 
Phil  minding  not  the  jolting  in  the  sudden  fierce  re- 
sentment communicated  to  him  by  the  determined 
mien  of  the  leaders.  Without  especial  cause  he  found 
himself,  all  of  an  instant,  hating  sheep. 

They  broke  into  a  gallop;  and  dashing  through 
the  middle  band  of  the  sheep,  sending  them  baa-ing 
and  affrighted  right  and  left,  the  four  men,  appar- 
ently not  at  all  averse  to  riding  underfoot  whatever 
animals  got  in  the  way,  greeted  by  the  angry  barking 
of  an  indignant  collie,  pulled  up  before  the  herder 
in  charge. 

"  Where's  your  boss  ?  "  demanded  Old  Jess,  abruptly. 
The  herder,  a  tanned  stripling  in  broad  hat,  ragged 
blue  overalls  and  brogans,  looked  upon  them  out  of 
skimmed-milk  eyes  set  in  a  slightly  scared  Scan- 
dinavian countenance,  and  said,  without  other  emo- 
tion, jerking  his  head  sideways: 


NO    WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  273 

"Over  there." 

The  dog  growled.  He  met  hostility  with  equal 
hostility,  and  as  open.  These  people  had  acted  im- 
politely, to  say  the  least,  and  he  told  them  so. 

Through  the  next  band  of  sheep  the  cowmen  reck- 
lessly plowed — seeming  to  take  delight  in  the  dis- 
may of  their  passage.  Old  ewes  and  wethers  ran 
panic-stricken,  little  lambs  bolted  and  dodged.  The 
herder  in  charge  of  this  detachment  was  a  Mexican — 
squat  and  full-bearded  and  swart.  He  yelled,  and 
shook  a  staff  vigorously. 

"  You  come  out  ! "  he  protested.  "  What  you 
mean,  ridin'  through  sheep  that  way  ? "  His  dog 
barked. 

"  Shut  up,  you  greaser  ! "  retorted  Henry ;  and 
Buster  jeered  shrilly,  half  turning  in  his  saddle  to 
make  a  face. 

These  sheep  bore  large  black  K*s  stamped  upon 
their  rumps,  and  upon  the  side  of  their  noses,  as 
their  blank  faces  and  cold  yellow  eyes  turned  up 
imploringly,  was  to  be  noted,  in  the  majority  of  cases, 
a  burned  V.     Ears  were  marked  with  a  swallow  fork. 

The  man  on  horseback,  who,  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eyes,  must  have  witnessed  the  approach,  rode 
along  imperturbably,  with  lazy,  loose  seat.  The 
party  halted  right  athwart  his  path,  and  he,  too, 
halted. 

He  was  a  thin,  lank  individual — even  thinner  and 
lanker  than  Pete,  the  cook — with  small  head  and 
features  and  a  very  long  neck  rising  out  from  a  dirty 
gingham  shirt  which,  unbuttoned  half  way  down,  ex- 


274  BAR   B    BOYS 

posed  a  soiled  undergarment.  His  overalls  had  crept 
well  above  his  shoes  resting  loosely  in  the  wooden 
stirrups,  and  the  gap  was  filled  with  crumpled  gray 
sock. 

Between  left  leg  and  saddleflap  was  a  rifle,  in  scab- 
bard. 

From  under  a  disreputable  derby  hat,  oddly  top- 
ping his  bullet  head,  he  spat  copious  tobacco  juice; 
with  a  flicker  of  keenness  in  his  small  hazel  eyes  sur- 
veying the  intruders. 

"  Howdy,"  he  said. 

"  How  do  do,"  spoke  Old  Jess,  curtly.  "  Trailin' 
those   sheep   far  ? " 

"  So  so."  The  man  threw  a  leg  over  the  horn 
of  the  saddle,  and  sat  more  comfortably.  "  Any 
water  ahead  ?  " 

"  Might  be,  if  yuh  reach  it.  Yuh  know  this  is 
cattle  country,  don't  yuh  ?  " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  The  man  extracted  a  well-gnawed  plug 
and  after  a  cursory  inspection  bit  off  a  piece. 

"Yes,  it  is.  Yuh  can't  take  your  sheep  through 
here,  my  friend." 

"  Where's  your  dead-line  ?  " 

"  We  don't  need  any  dead-line.  This  is  cattle 
range,  an'  nothin'  but  cattle  range.     That's  enough." 

"  Not  for  me.  I'm  from  Missouri,"  said  the  man, 
Btill  cool.     "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"We're  running  cows  on  this  very  ground,"  put 
in  Mr.  Simms,  also  curtly.  "  If  you  don't  know  it 
you  ought  to  know  it — and  I  reckon  we  can  *  show  * 
you,  mighty  quick." 


NO    WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  275 

"You  bet!"  supplemented  Buster.  "  Yu  or  any 
other  sheep  outfit." 

"  No  objection  to  our  crossin'  through,  have  you  ?  " 
asked  the  man,  unmoved. 

"  Yes,  sir."  Old  Jess'  reply  was  very  prompt. 
"We  object,  an'  we  object  a  heap.     Yuh  can't  do  it." 

"  Hate  to  disoblige  you,"  asserted  the  man,  with 
the  trace  of  a  smile  on  his  weazened  countenance. 
He  spat.  "  This  is  government  reserve  land,  ain't  it  ? 
Reckon  we  have  as  much  right  on  it  as  you  have. 
An'  I  got  a  permit  to  cross,  anyway." 

"  Who  gave  it  to  you  ?" 

"  A  couple  o'  rangers  we  met." 

"  A  couple  o'  rangers  !  "  Old  Jess  laughed  sar- 
castically— and  his  party  joined  in,  Phil  and  Chet 
loudest  of  all.  "  You're  mistaken,  my  friend.  This 
ain't  reserve,  an'  you  didn't  meet  no  rangers  for  it. 
Where's  your  permit  ?  " 

The  lank,  bullet-headed  horseman  lazily  pulled  a 
slip  of  paper  from  his  hip  pocket,  unfolded  it  and  held 
it  up  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"  There  she  is.  I  call  your  bluff."  He  tucked  it 
back  in  his  pocket  again. 

"  This  ain't  reserve,  an'  there  ain't  no  rangers. 
We  cow-punchers  do  all  the  rangin'  that's  necessary," 
said  Buster,  hotly. 

"  That's  right,"  supported  Henry. 

"  What  kind  o'  lookin'  men  ? "  inquired  Old  Jess. 

"  A  one-eye,  an'  a  man  with  a  little  black  mus- 
tache." 

"Lame?" 


276  BAR   B    BOYS 

'*Dunno.     Didn't  ride  lame." 

"  Oh,  I  know !  "  exclaimed  Cherry,  who  had  been 
listening  with  eyes  and  ears.  "That  was  Foley  and 
Joe.  They  aren't  rangers,"  she  added,  disdainfully. 
"  They  did  that  just  for  meanness." 

"  Friends  o'  yourn  ? "  inquired  the  sheepman, 
amiably. 

"  You'd  better  get  rid  o'  that  dockyment  mighty 
quick,"  advised  Old  Jess.  "  Those  two  fellers  ain't 
rangers  at  all.  'Cordin'  to  your  description,  they're 
common  rustlers." 

"  What'd  they  give  me  a  permit  for,  then  ? " 

"Jes*  to  make  trouble.  This  range  ain't  healthy 
for  them,  an'  they  thought  they'd  leave  us  a  sheep- 
job." 

"  Naw,  they  ain't  rangers,"  concurred  all.  "  They 
fooled  you,  mister."  A  grim  laugh  went  'round — 
save  that  the  sheepman  only  imperturbably  chewed, 
smiling  not. 

"  Well,  boys,"  he  remarked,  throwing  his  leg  into 
position  again,  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  horse, 
"adios  to  you.  I'll  have  to  ketch  up  with  those 
sheep.     How  far  to  water,  did  you  say  ?  " 

But  the  rank  before  him  opened  not.  Old  Jess, 
Mr.  Simms,  Buster  and  Henry  sat  ranged  closely, 
hedging  his  advance. 

"  Hold  on,  friend,"  bade  Mr.  Simms.  "  You  go- 
ing to  turn  back,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"No,  I  didn't.     Why?" 

"  Count  on  going  through  with  'em,  do  yuh  ?  " 

"  Certainly  do." 


NO    WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  277 

An  ominous  murmur  swept  through  the  little 
squad.  The  veteran  cowman  compressed  his  lips  and 
sternly  shook  his  head. 

"  You'll  never  make  it,"  he  declared. 

"No  water?" 

"  Too  many  men  !  " 

"How  so?" 

"  This  is  cow-range.  WeVe  told  you  that  several 
times." 

"  We  won't  hurt  your  range.  We're  simply  cross- 
ing for  the  short  cut  of  it.  There's  grass  enough  for 
that,  an'  for  your  cows  too." 

The  atmosphere  had  suddenly  waxed  tense  again. 
Tempers  were  strained,  and  word,  spoken  and  un- 
spoken, clashed  with  word. 

"  No,  sir.  There  is  not.  We  know  what  a  *  short 
cut '  for  sheep  means.  Once  sheep  get  into  a  coun- 
try, by  hook  or  crook,  you  never  get  'em  out.     They 

*  cross '  a  little  wider  and  a  little  wider,  and  fust  thing 
yuh  know  they're  crowding  out  the  cattle.     No  sheep 

*  crosses '   through   the   Owl   Creek   or   the    Steeple 
country — do  they,  boys?" 

"Not  in  a  hundred  years,"  declared  Henry. 

"  Sheep  have  as  much  right  in  here  as  cattle,  I 
take  it."  The  horseman's  tone  was  steady,  his  mien 
unruffled.  Phil  could  not  help  but  rather  admire 
how  he  sat,  giving  not  an  inch  nor  the  quiver  of  an 
eyelash,  in  the  midst  of  the  angered  half-circle. 
"  What's  your  claim  on  the  whole  country?  " 

"  Thirty  years'  possession.  That's  been  enough 
to  date,  and  I  suspect  it  isn't  outlawed  yet.    Possession 


278 


BAR   B    BOYS 


is  nine  points  o'  the  law,  friend — and  the  tenth  point 
we  can  produce,  on  occasion."  Mr.  Simms  tapped 
his  hip  suggestively.  "  I  reckon  you'd  better  trail 
your  woollies  out  'o  here,  the  way  they  came  in." 

"  No,  I  reckon  different."  The  sheepman  met  the 
cowman's  look  squarely.  His  little  eyes  had  a  latent 
blaze  of  defiance,  and  the  poise  of  his  bullet-head 
upon  his  long  neck  stiffened.  Otherwise  he  was 
ostensibly  as  negligent  as  ever.  "  I've  had  orders  to 
make  this  short  cut,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  do  it.  We're 
late,  now,  off  the  lambin'  grounds,  an'  we're  due  on 
the  summer  range.  We  won't  hurt  your  forage. 
We'll  push  right  along.  But  it's  too  late  for  us  to 
back  out.  I'm  sorry  to  disoblige  you,  boys;  but  be- 
cause you  run  cattle  over  a  country  is  no  sign  you 
own  it.  We've  as  much  right  in  here  as  you  have. 
But  we're  not  here  to  stay;  we're  just  passin' 
through." 

"  Yes,  *  passin'  through  ' ! "  derided  Old  Jess. 
"  An'  after  you  another  bunch  '11  be  *  passin'  through,' 
an'  another,  till  the  whole  country  '11  stink  so  of  sheep 
that  no  white  man  can  live  in  it." 

"  Supposin'  I  go  on  to  the  next  water.  Then  we 
can  have  another  talk." 

"  No  next  water ;  no  talk.  We've  palavered  plenty 
already,"  asserted  Mr.  Simms.  "Your  sheep  stop 
right  here." 

"  But,  my  God,  man !  "  protested  the  other,  with 
abrupt  alarm,  "  those  sheep  got  to  have  water.  I 
can't  trail  'em  all  the  way  back  to  the  last  water. 
It's  a  day  behind." 


NO    WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  279 

"  Can't  help  that/'  responded  the  cattleman,  hard 
as  flint.  "  You're  in  a  bed  of  your  own  making. 
The  quicker  you  get  back  to  that  water,  then,  the 
better." 

"  I'll  kill  off  my  sheep  for  no  outfit,"  declared  the 
other,  doggedly. 

"  Do  you  own  'em  ?  " 

"  No.  I'm  foreman,  tho',  an'  I'm  here  to  see  they 
get  fair  treatment." 

"  Yu  seem  anxious  to  have  'em  piled  up  on  yu,  jest 
the  same,"  put  in  Buster. 

"  I'll  'tend  to  the  pilin'  up,"  retorted  the  sheepman, 
with  that  flicker  of  the  eyelid  which  denoted  his 
temper.  "  By  you  or  by  anybody  else.  But  they 
sha'n't  die  o  'thirst." 

"  Come  on,  boys,"  quoth  Old  Jess,  wheeling  his 
horse.  "  We've  given  him  his  chance.  We'll  come 
again." 

"  Yes — an'  we'll  come  a-shootin',"  boasted  Buster. 

"  When  you  come  we'll  be  ready  for  you,"  called 
the  sheepman. 

Away  dashed  the  cow-camp  party,  heading  whence 
they  had  come.  The  sheep,  reorganized  by  the  herd- 
ers after  the  late  demoralization  caused  by  the  reck- 
less passage  of  the  riders  through  their  midst,  were 
some  distance  up  the  draw,  pursuing  their  onward 
way.  Over  their  backs  floated  a  dust,  golden  in  the 
westering  sun.  The  barking  of  the  dogs  and  the 
shouting  of  the  herders,  mingled  with  the  myriad 
baa-ing  from  five  thousand  throats,  wafted  through 
the  still  air.     Looking  back  Phil  saw  that  the  sheep- 


28o  BAR   B    BOYS 

man,  now  at  a  trot,  was  overtaking  his  outfit.  He 
was  plucky,  that  chap.  He  had  been  intimidated  not 
a  speck,  but  had  stood  his  ground. 

Buster  was  commenting  wrathfully,  for  whomever 
might  listen. 

"  That  fellow  has  his  nerve.  He  certainly  is  from 
Missouri,"  commented  Mr.  Simms. 

"We'll  'show  him,'  all  right,"  declared  Buster. 
"We'll  *  show  him.'  We'll  pile  those  sheep  so  high 
they'll  look  like  a  snowy  range." 

"  Seems  a  pity,"  quoth  Old  Jess.  "  But  we  gave 
him  his  chance." 

"  They'll  likely  camp  at  the  end  of  the  draw. 
There's  a  water-hole  there." 

"  Yes.  They'll  have  to.  Some  o'  those  ewes  were 
about  all  in  with  thirst." 

"They'll  spoil  that  water  so  no  decent  animal  will 
drink  there  for  a  month,"  scolded  Buster. 

"What  are  they  going  to  do  next?"  asked  Phil 
of  Chet. 

"Who?" 

"Our  outfit." 

"  We'll  get  out  to-night,  I  bet,  an'  pile  'em  up." 

Phil  pondered. 

"  What's  that?  "  he  ventured. 

"  Aw,  ride  back  and  forth  through  them  shooting 
and  running  'em  down,"  explained  Chet,  with  savage 
emphasis.  "Nobody's  going  to  get  sheep  into  this 
country.  It's  cow  country.  Three  years  ago  an- 
other outfit  tried  it  and  the  boys  piled  up  two  thousand 
and  the  rest  were  stampeded  into  the  brush  so  they 


NO   WOOLLIES   ALLOWED  281 

never  zuere  gathered  again.  We  all  had  lamb  and 
mutton  for  six  months!  " 

"  What  a  shame !  "  exclaimed  Cherry,  indignantly. 
"The  poor  things!     It  isn't  their  fault." 

"  Sometimes  the  herders  get  killed,  too,  unless  they 
keep  out  of  the  way,"  proceeded  Chet.  "But  they 
usually  take  to  the  brush  themselves  at  the  first  shot." 

"  I  think  it's  a  shame !  "  reiterated  Cherry. 

"  Then  they've  no  business  bringing  sheep  in." 

"  The  poor  defenseless  things  !  What  harm  do 
they  do?" 

"  Who  ?  The  sheep  ? "  Chet  sputtered  angrily. 
Bred  in  the  school  of  the  open  range,  he  could  take 
only  the  cowman's  view.  "  They  kill  the  forage. 
They  eat  it  so  close  that  nothing  else  can  live  on  it, 
not  even  deer.  A  cow  and  horse  won't  even  try  to 
graze  where  sheep  have  been,  and  they  won't  drink 
after  sheep,  either.  They  don't  like  the  smell.  It 
takes  about  fifty  acres,  here  in  the  mountains,  to  sup- 
port a  cow.  Dad  says  that  about  thirty  used  to  do, 
down  on  the  plains.  When  the  sheep  come  in  they 
drive  the  cattle  out,  for  they  eat  so  close  they  can 
live  where  a  cow  can't.  Everybody  hates  woollies — 
that  is,  everybody  but  the  fellows  who  own  them, 
and  they  hire  herders  and  don't  do  the  work  them- 
selves.    You  bet  no  sheep  get  in  here,  to  stay  long." 

"  But  these  just  want  to  pass  through." 

Chet  snorted. 

"  Aw,  that's  the  old  trick,"  he  flouted.  "  First  a 
bunch  passes  through.  Then  another  bunch  follows, 
but  has  to  take  a  little  different  trail,  because  the 


282 


BAR   B    BOYS 


forage  has  been  cleaned  out.  Pretty  soon  a  bunch 
camps  for  a  day  or  two — and  first  thing  you  know  the 
range  is  sheep  range,  and  that's  the  end  of  cattle." 

"  Are  you  going  along  to-night  when  they  pile 
them  up?"  queried  Phil. 

Chet  answered  promptly. 

"  Sure!  It'll  be  fun.  We'll  all  go.  I  wish  I  had 
my  gun." 

"  Maybe  the  sheep  people  will  shoot  back,"  sug- 
gested Phil. 

Chet  was  no  whit  alarmed. 

"  They'd  better  not,"  he  blustered.  "  Buster  and 
Dick  and  the  other  boys  would  as  soon  fix  a  sheep- 
herder  as  a  coyote.  I  hate  to  have  the  dogs  hurt, 
tho',"  he  added.     "  But  they  generally  are." 

Cherry  said  not  a  word.  Only,  as  she  rode,  a  vivid 
red  spot  glowed  in  each  cheek,  and  her  lips  were 
pressed  tightly  together. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

MISTRESS    CHERRY   TO   THE   RESCUE 

"What  I  don't  savvy,"  remarked  the  Open  A 
man,  "is  why  those  rustlers  headed  this  sheep  outfit 
in  here  with  a  fake  permit — .acceptin'  that  there  is  a 
permit." 

"  He  only  showed  us  a  piece  of  paper,"  said  Buster. 
"  That  was  jest  a  bluff.  He  an'  any  other  sheepman 
knows  there  can't  any  ranger  give  a  permit  to  cross 
cattle  country." 

"  But  s'posin'  those  two  fellers  fooled  him. 
Why  ?  "  persisted  the  Open  A  man. 

"  There  are  some  people  in  this  world  naturally 
plumb  mean,  I  reckon,"  averred  Mr.  Simms.  "  They 
like  to  stir  up  trouble.  Those  two  fellows  are  get- 
ting driven  out  o'  the  district;  we've  touched  'em  up 
pretty  bad  already,  and  they're  just  sore  enough  to 
strike  whatever  they  can,  around  in  a  circle  like  a 
mad  rattlesnake.  If  they  can  bother  us  with  sheep, 
and  hurt  the  range  and  get  us  into  a  fix  some  way, 
they'll  do  it." 

"  It's  kinder  hahd  on  the  sheep,"  murmured  Haney. 

"  Yes,  it  sure  is,"  agreed  somebody. 

But  despite  this  opinion  no  token  of  relenting  from 
hostility  against  the  invader  flock  was  evident  in  the 
camp.  The  men  had  eaten,  and  now  in  the  long  rays 
of  the  sun,  slanted  across  from  the  crest  of  the  west- 

283 


284 


BAR   B   BOYS 


ward  mesa,  they  were  lounging  about  relaxed  and 
lazy;  only  Pete  was  busy,  washing  the  dishes,  occa- 
sionally joining,  with  his  characteristic  freedom,  in 
the  conversation.  But  although  the  scene  was  one  of 
peace,  ominous  preparation  for  action  was  visible. 

**  You  men  who'll  want  your  hawsses  had  better 
save  'em  out  o'  the  herd  before  the  wrangler  gets 
away  with  it,"  had  prompted  Old  Jess,  quietly. 

"Somebody  loan  me  a  hawss,"  appealed  Pete. 
"  Say,  save  me  one,  somebody.  I  want  to  be  in  on 
this  picnic." 

The  herd  had  come  in  and  gone  again  (wrangler 
Bud  protesting  that  he  would  hurry  back,  and  that 
the  "crowd"  must  wait  for  him),  leaving  behind  it 
a  score  of  horses  picketed  to  the  brush. 

Following  Chet's  example  Phil  had  roped  out  Pep- 
per; reluctantly,  but  bound  to  do  as  the  rest:  and 
much  to  the  camp's  amusement  Cherry  likewise  had 
reserved  a  mount. 

"  Looks  like  this  camp  is  unanimous,"  commented 
Old  Jess.  "  You'd  better  stay  at  home,  gal,"  he  ad- 
vised bluntly. 

"  All  alone  ?   I'm  afraid,"  objected  Cherry. 

"  Got  two  boys  to  look  after  yuh." 

"  Who?  Us?  "  Chet  spoke  up  quickly  "  Naw,  sir! 
We're  going,  too.  Phil  wants  to  see  the  fun  as  much 
as  anybody." 

Old  Jess,  with  his  usual  non-assenting  grunt,  ac- 
cepted the  mutiny.  He  had  delivered  his  say,  and 
did  not  intend  to  assume  further  supervision  of 
juveniles. 


MISTRESS  CHERRY   TO  THE   RESCUE    285 

Mr.  Simms  added  his  word. 

"  You're  better  off  at  camp,  all  three  of  you,"  he 
spoke.  "You'll  just  be  in  the  way  and  you're  liable 
to  be  hurt.     It's  no  pleasure  trip;  it's  a  bad  business.*' 

But  with  this  speech  he,  too,  was  done.  In  the 
open  West  people  travel  their  own  road,  to  profit  by 
experience.  And  the  two  boys  must  live  and  learn, 
like  everybody  else.  As  for  Cherry — well,  a  girl  in 
a  cow-camp  was  a  problem  new  to  this  range. 

"  Ought  to  have  more  shootin'  irons,  hadn't  we  ?  " 
volunteered  Pete,  cheerfully,  now  having  finished  his 
dishes,  and  advancing,   sociably  inclined. 

"  Might  do  a  more  thorough  job,"  agreed  several. 

"  Ride  'em  daown ;  ride  'em  daown,"  drawled 
Haney  the  Texan.  "  Raid  'em  good  an'  plenty  an' 
they'll  never  bothuh  any  moh  this  year.  Don't  laike 
shootin',  me." 

"  Oh,  we'll  have  guns  enough,  I  reckon,"  quoth 
Mr.  Simms.    "  Somebody  can  take  the  boy's." 

"Yes;  I  don't  want  it,"  proffered  Phil,  without 
hesitation. 

"I'll  use  it,"  volunteered  Chet,  the  bloodthirsty. 

"  No,  you  won't."  His  father  was  emphatic. 
"  You'll  go  empty-handed.  Otherwise  you'll  be  put- 
ting a  hole  in  a  good  hawss  or  someone's  leg  instead 
of  a  sheep." 

"  Yes ;  a  sixty-dollar  horse  or  a  forty-dollar  puncher, 
Chet,"  supplemented  Ford. 

"  It  would  serve  you  right,"  declared  Cherry,  flatly, 
from  the  spot  where  now  for  some  time  she  had  been 
silent.     "  Killing  a  lot  of  poor  defenseless  sheep  ! " 


286 


BAR  B   BOYS 


Various  eyes  surveyed  her  with  calm,  dispassionate 
gaze,  as  if  politely  weighing  her  remark. 

"  You're  going  along,'*  hazarded  a  voice,  slyly. 

To  this  and  to  the  chuckle  that  followed  Mistress 
Cherry  made  no  retort. 

Bud  the  wrangler  arrived  breathless,  at  a  trot,  but 
found  that  his  haste  was  unnecessary,  for  the  camp 
was  just  as  he  had  left  it.     Dusk  settled. 

"  There's  no  law  against  a  man  gettin'  what  sleep 
he  can,  is  there  ?  "  said  the  Boot  rider.  He  arose  and 
strolled  to  his  bed.     "  Who'll  wake  me?  " 

"  All  o'  yuh  go  to  bed.  I'll  wake  yuh,"  vouch- 
safed Pete  the  cook,  affably. 

"Pete  wants  to  make  sure  we  don't  sneak  off  on 
him,  some  way,"  explained  Mr.  Simms,  amidst  the 
general  scattering  to  the  nightly  nests. 

"  Come  on.  But  don't  you  let  'em  leave  us  while 
we're  asleep,"  adjured  Chet. 

"  How  long  will  they  wait  ? "  asked  Phil,  non- 
plussed, as  sitting  upon  his  bed  he  pulled  off  his  boots. 

"  'Bout  midnight,  maybe.  Till  things  have  quieted 
down  at  the  sheep  camp  and  the  moon's  up." 

Beneath  his  tarpaulin  Phil  lay  for  some  time 
awake.  Chet's  adjuration  of  watchfulness  seemed 
to  have  placed  a  responsibility  upon  him — Chet  being 
an  extraordinarily  sound  sleeper.  The  project  afoot 
also  worried  him.  He  was  loyal  to  cow-land  and 
cow-man — for  was  he  not  a  puncher,  himself,  riding 
for  the  Bar  B? — but  he  wished  that  there  was  some 
other  way  of  getting  rid  of  those  sheep  without  mal- 
treating them.     He  kept  seeing  their  servile  mien, 


MISTRESS  CHERRY  TO  THE  RESCUE    287 

their  coward  yellow  eyes  looking  up  in  such  appre- 
hension out  of  their  blank  faces,  their  confused  run- 
ning to  and  fro  with  no  attempt  upon  the  part  of  any 
mother  to  protect  her  child ;  and  he  agreed  with 
Cherry  that  the  foray  was  one  not  to  be  proud  of. 
Even  Mr.  Simms  had  said  it  was  a  "  bad  business.'* 

Nevertheless,  evidently  it  had  to  be  done.  The 
range  demanded.  Ford  had  made  no  objection. 
The  peace-loving  Haney  had  grimly  supported  the 
measure.  Perhaps  it  was  not  so  severe  as  it  sounded. 
At  any  rate,  in  Rome  one  did  as  the  Romans.  Cherry 
thought  even  branding  cruel — but  it  had  to  be  done, 
too.  Still,  the  sheep  were  so  utterly  defenseless,  and 
they  had  been  forced  in  here — they  could  not  help 
themselves — he  hoped  that  not  many  would  be  hurt — 
or  anybody  killed — what  queer  yellow  eyes  and  white 
lashes  they  had — and  how  fat  and  comical  were  the 
lambs — he  wished  that  he  and  Chet  weren't  going — 
Cherry  didn't  want  to — what  would  his  mother  say? 
— but,  still,  he  was  a  cowboy,  and  sheep  spoiled  the 
range — to  "  pile  'em  up  "  was  the  only  way,  wasn't 
it  ? —  nobody  liked  to,  except  maybe  Buster  and  Pete, 
and  they  were  hot-headed — hee-hum — he  must  be 
careful  not  to  let  Chet  and  himself  sleep  through — 
though  he  wouldn't  mind,  for  himself — perhaps  they 
had  been  taken  out,  already,  those  sheep — hurrah,  if 
they  had — perhaps — perhaps 

He  must  have  dropped  off.  For  from  a  confusion 
of  running  sheep,  all  with  basilisk  yellow  eyes,  and 
shouting,  shooting  riders,  he  was  transported  as 
abruptly  as  the  snapping  of  a  thread  to  find  himself 


288 


BAR   B    BOYS 


half  sitting  up,  among  his  covers,  staring  wildly  into 
the  brush ;  with  a  gibbous  moon  low  in  the  sky  before 
him,  about  him  the  dimly  white  tarpaulin  beds  of 
the  camp,  and  enveloping  him  the  chill  dampness  of 
the  wide  night. 

He  listened  attentively  to  make  sure  that  he  and 
Chet  had  not  been  left.  No;  snores  were  numerous 
enough  to  prove  that  the  camp  was  intact.  The 
picketed  horses  sighed  and  stamped.  Then,  as  his 
eyes  roved  around,  straining  to  pierce  further  the 
dusk,  they  rested  upon  Cherry's  little  tent  (obscurely 
showing  twenty  yards  away)  just  in  time  to  distin- 
guish the  flap  momentarily  fade,  so  to  speak,  and  a 
figure  emerge — the  figure,  by  size  and  quickness,  of 
Cherry  herself! 

Phil  cowered  back  in  his  covers,  so  that  only  his 
head  was  out,  as  customary.  He  curiously  watched, 
and  almost  he  giggled,  at  the  thought  that  Cherry 
was  walking  in  her  sleep. 

An  instant  she  halted,  and  stood;  then  she  turned 
aside,  and  gathering  her  saddle  equipment  carried  it 
toward  the  horses.  Depositing  it  (she  moved  with 
little  sound,  but  with  exceeding  haste)  she  proceeded 
on,  and  came  back  leading  a  horse — ^presumably  her 
own. 

Phil  began  to  be  alarmed.  Also,  he  was  puzzled. 
She  acted  as  if  she  was  awake.  Now  she  was  sad- 
dling up,  feverishly,  again  in  much  haste.  Phil  raised 
his  head.     'Twas  time  that  he  intercepted. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  softly,  across  the  dusky  space. 

She  made  no  response,  nor  appeared  to  hear.     But 


MISTRESS  CHERRY  TO  THE  RESCUE    289 

something  in  her  nervous  celerity  made  him  think 
that  she  did  hear. 

"  Hello,"  he  repeated,  in  undertone ;  "  where  you 
going?" 

"  Uh !  uh !  "  she  murmured,  shortly — which  ex- 
pressed "Shoo,  fly!"  "Be  quiet!"  and  "None  of 
your  business,"  all  in  one.  There  rarely  was  any 
mistake  as  to  what  Cherry  meant,  when  she  spoke. 

Now  thoroughly  in  earnest,  Phil  sat  up.  Even  as 
he  did  so  Cherry  led  her  horse  away,  by  the  bridle. 
Phil  threw  aside  his  covers  and  hauling  his  boots 
from  beneath  his  bed  tugged  to  get  them  on.  He 
wriggled  into  his  coat  and  scrambled  to  his  feet,  at 
the  same  time. 

"Whoo-ee,"  he  called,  mildly,  staggering  stiffly 
through  the  brush,  after  her. 

But  with  another  low,  warning  "  Uh !  uh !  " — this 
one  being  less  a  remonstrance  than  a  caution — on  the 
outskirts  of  the  camp  she  had  mounted,  had  ridden 
off,  had  merged,  horse  and  self,  with  the  mist  and 
faintly  illumined  night;  and  was  gone.     Where? 

In  earnest  Phil  turned  for  his  own  saddle,  found 
Medicine  Eye,  clapped  bridle  and  saddle  on  him, 
working  hard  in  the  dimness  with  awkward  fingers  to 
accomplish  the  job  before  the  girl  was  out  of  reach 
or  he  was  interrupted.  He  would  have  wakened 
Chet,  but  he  had  no  time.  However,  some  of  the 
camp  was  now  aroused,  for  a  voice  spoke: 

"  Who  is  that,  over  there  ?  " 

"What's  the  matter,  Dick?"     Another  voice. 

"  Somebody's  saddlin'  a  hawss.     Time  to  get  up?  " 


290 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"I  dunno.     Who  is  it?" 

"Cook  ain't  called,  has  he?"     A  third  voice. 

"  Who  is  that  over  there?" 

"  Macowan,"  replied  Phil,  swinging  hurriedly 
into  the  saddle.  "  Cherry  went  somewhere — I'll 
see,"  he  called  back. 

"  Who  ?  "  demanded  the  sleepy  questioner  again, 
in  tone  irritated. 

Phil  paused  not  to  repeat.  But  breaking  Medicine 
Eye  at  once  into  a  trot  he  sallied  forth,  upon  the  trail. 

Behind  him  the  camp  began  to  chatter  and  stir, 
one  after  another  of  its  members  joining  the  con- 
fused discussion  that  he  evidently  had  excited.  Thus 
might  exchange  remarks  a  small  colony  of  prairie- 
dogs,  routed  out  of  their  holes;  and  as  he  left  it  be- 
hind Phil  was  moved  to  chuckle. 

The  open  country,  partially  lighted  by  the  gibbous 
moon,  lay  ghostly  around  him.  Before,  he  could 
barely  make  out  the  combination  figure  of  Cherry  and 
her  horse,  crossing  the  flat.  Medicine  Eye  pricked 
his  ears,  and  whinnied.  Of  his  own  accord  he  quick- 
ened his  trot.  Occasionally  he  stumbled  upon  the 
brush  hedging  his  course.  No  sound  was  to  be  heard, 
except  the  hoof-beats  and  the  crackle  of  the  branches. 
The  moist  sage  gave  forth  a  pleasantly  pungent 
aroma,  diffused  from  below  and  hanging  in  the  damp, 
sluggish  air.  A  slight  mist,  as  of  an  exhalation  from 
the  heavy  dew,  hovered  o'er.  Phil's  nostrils  ex- 
panded, and  he  drank  deep  of  the  soothing  atmos- 
phere.    He  was  thoroughly  enjoying  the  adventure. 

Cherry  was  climbing  the  mesa  beyond  which  had 


MISTRESS  CHERRY   TO  THE   RESCUE    291 

been  discovered  the  sheep;  and  now  his  trot  was 
rapidly  bringing  him  nearer  to  her.  Still  at  the  trot, 
with  sundry  eager  grunts  Medicine  Eye  forced  the 
ascent. 

Cherry  was  pushing  right  on,  as  far  ahead  as  ever. 
She  was  at  a  lope;  and  Medicine  Eye,  giving  a  little 
whimper  as  of  disgust,  also  forged  into  a  lope. 

"  Whoo-ee !  "  signaled  Phil ;  but  Cherry  slackened 
not  nor  waited. 

However,  at  the  other  edge  of  the  mesa  she  pulled 
short,  for  a  moment,  as  if  peering  into  the  swale  be- 
low. Phil  could  distinguish  her,  in  a  spectral  manner, 
doing  this.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  listening,  as  well 
as  peering.  Then  resuming  her  excursion  she  rode 
along  the  mesa  edge.  This  enabled  her  pursuer,  by 
changing  Medicine  Eye's  course,  to  oblique  in  a  short 
cut  and  converge  upon  her. 

"What's  the  matter?  Where  you  going?"  Phil 
asked,  about  to  reach  her  side. 

"  I  can't  find  the  sheep,"  she  said.  "  Where  do  you 
suppose  their  camp  is  ?  " 

Phil  stared  anxiously  upon  her,  debating  whether 
she  was  asleep  or  really  awake. 

"  Oh,  they're  safe  some  place,"  he  said,  to  humor 
her.     "  Come  on ;  let's  go  back  to  camp." 

"  They  are  not  safe,"  she  retorted,  so  sharply  as  to 
convince  him  that  she  was  indeed  awake.  "  Every- 
body's coming  over  to  kill  them,  and  you  know  it." 

The  sight  of  her  face  and  her  widely-open  indignant 
eyes,  as  she  turned  upon  him,  further  convinced  him 
as  to  her  sanity. 


292 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  We  can't  help  it.  And  I  don't  see  why  you  want 
to  start  out  and  ride  alone  this  way,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night.  You've  no  business  to.  It's  danger- 
ous." 

"  /  can  help  it.  I  think  it's  a  shame.  You  go  back, 
but  I'm  going  to  find  the  sheep  people  and  tell  them." 

"  They  know  it.  Buster  told  them  what  would 
happen.     What  can  you  do  ?  " 

"I  can  tell  them  again,  and  that  it's  really  so,  and 
that  the  men  are  coming  right  away  and  they'd 
better  get  ready  to  promise  to  take  their  sheep  out." 

"  But  they  wouldn't  promise,  just  a  little  while  ago. 
Come  on  back.     You  can't  do  anything." 

"  They've  had  water  now,  maybe.  They  wouldn't 
promise  before  because  they  hadn't  had  water.  And  I 
don't  believe  they  knew  what  a  lot  of  men  would  get 
a,fter  them.  I  told  on  them  and  got  them  into  trouble, 
too.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  maybe  they'd  have 
gone  through  without  being  caught." 

"  Of  course  they'd  have  been  caught."  Phil  spoke 
as  confidently  as  he  could.  "  Come  on  back,  now. 
You've  got  to  come  back."  He  did  not  mean  to  be 
over-authoritative,  but  this  assuredly  was  no  escapade 
for  a  girl.     He  was  alarmed. 

"  No,  sir."  Cherry  was  away  again.  "  Go  back, 
yourself.  I  don't  ask  you  to  stay,  and  I  didn't  ask 
your  advice." 

Phil  followed.  Of  course,  he  could  not  go  back  and 
leave  her.  That  was  no  part  to  play.  He  could  not 
carry  her  back,  either.     So  he  must  see  her  through. 

"  They  couldn't  have  gone  very  far,"  soliloquized 


MISTRESS  CHERRY  TO  THE  RESCUE    293 

Cherry.  "We'll  turn  down  here,  Sukie  (Sukie  was 
her  horse)  and  look  for  them." 

She  and  Sukie  plunged  down  the  loose  slope,  in 
diagonal  descent.  Phil  and  Medicine  Eye  promptly 
did  the  same.  There  was  no  sound,  save  the  passage 
of  the  horses.  The  swale  all  was  quiet,  as  if  devoid 
of  life. 

"You  must  be  nearly  opposite  the  water-hole," 
volunteered  Phil,  from  behind.  "  That's  where  the 
camp  would  be." 

"  Oh,  dear ;  we  must  hurry,  Sukie,"  she  sighed. 
"  We'll  be  too  late.     I  can  hear  the  men  coming." 

Phil  listened.  He  could  hear  nothing.  But  just 
then,  close  ahead  amidst  the  denser  mist  that  shrouded 
the  swale  into  which  they  were  entering,  a  dog  barked. 

"There  they  are!"  exclaimed  Cherry,  joyously. 
"Hurry,  Sukie."  And  at  a  gallop  she  dashed  reck- 
lessly on. 

The  dog  barked  furiously.  There  was  a  querulous 
baa,  followed  by  another  and  another.  The  chorus 
swelled.  The  riders  seemed  right  upon  a  flock,  un- 
seen in  the  mist  and  brush.  Phil  frantically  ham- 
mered Medicine  Eye,  to  gain  Cherry's  side  and  thence 
to  take  the  lead. 

"  Don't  anybody  shoot  us,"  Cherry  was  calling, 
shrilly.     "  We  want  to  tell  you  something." 

Phil's  ear  caught  a  metallic  click. 

"  Stop  where  you  are,  then.  And  tell  it  mighty 
quick,"  ordered  a  gruff  voice,  from  the  brush,  close 
in  front. 

"We've  stopped,"  informed  Cherry. 


294 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"Who  are  you?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  just  a  girl." 

"Who's  with  you?" 

"  Just  a  boy." 

Phil  was  far  from  flattered,  but  this  was  no  time 
nor  place  to  argue  upon  his  status  of  real  cow-puncher. 

"  We've  come  from  the  cow-camp,"  he  explained. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"  It's  to  tell  you  that  the  whole  camp  is  riding  over 
to  kill  your  sheep,"  narrated  Cherry. 

"  We  know  that.  Yuh  can  ride  back  again.  Bet- 
ter do  it  'fore  yuh  get  hurt,  too." 

"  But  they  are.  There's  such  a  lot  of  them.  They 
are.  They're  coming  now,"  protested  Cherry, 
poignantly. 

"  What's  it  to  youf  You're  a  part  of  the  camp, 
aren't  yuh  ?  " 

"  We  don't  want  the  sheep  killed.  I  don't,  anyway. 
Please  promise  to  take  them  out,  won't  you  ?  Please, 
please  do.  And  hurry.  The  men'll  be  here  in  a  min- 
ute," pleaded  Cherry. 

The  figure  of  a  man,  rifle  in  hand,  arose  out  of  the 
brush,  and  approached  them.  This  was  a  relief.  To 
talk  to  a  mere  voice  was  unsatisfactory. 

"  It's  only  us,"  reassured  Cherry.  "  I'm  the  girl 
who  was  over  yesterday.  But  the  whole  camp's  com- 
ing, just  the  same.  Aren't  they?"  she  appealed,  to 
Phil. 

"  They  shore  are,"  corroborated  Phil,  with  his 
broadest  cow-range  accent — intended  to  counteract 
that  recent  "  boy  "  imputation  of  hers. 


MISTRESS  CHERRY  TO  THE   RESCUE     295 

"How  many?" 

"  Fifteen  or  twenty." 

"Hear  them?"  added  Cherry. 

Distant  could  be  distinguished  a  slight  jingle,  as  of 
horses  accoutered  and  ridden. 

The  sheepman — he  was  the  tall,  small-headed  in- 
dividual who  had  been  so  obstinate  at  the  interview 
with  Old  Jess  and  squad — appeared  to  hesitate. 

"  There'll  be  guns  a-poppin',"  he  said.  "  If  those 
men  want  fight,  they'll  get  it,"  and  he  cursed  the  near- 
ing  raiders  bitterly. 

"But  you'll  lose  your  sheep.  Truly,  you  will," 
pleaded  Cherry.  "  While  you're  fighting  some  of 
them  Buster  and  the  rest  will  ride  through  and  kill 
everything.  They'll  kill  you,  too,  if  you  shoot  back, 
I  know  they  will.  Please  tell  them  you'll  take  the 
sheep  out  right  away  in  the  morning.  I'll  go  and 
tell  them  to  wait.     Shall  I  ?  "  she  proffered,  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  care  for  myself  or  the  herders,  but  I  do 
care  for  the  sheep,"  mused  the  foreman.  "I  hate  to 
be  bluffed,  too.  Still — we've  had  water.  I  wouldn't 
have  backed  down  last  evenin*  for  no  gang.  I  was 
bound  to  get  water.  Now — well,  supposin'  you  ride 
back  an'  meet  'em,  an'  tell  'em  I'm  willin'  to  talk  a  bit. 
I  hate  to  have  the  sheep  killed.  There's  no  sense  in 
that" 

As  thus  he  argued,  in  helpless,  hesitant  fashion, 
half  to  them  and  half  to  himself,  Phil  felt  a  tinge  of 
compassion.  A  second  figure  had  emerged,  shadowy, 
from  the  brush  and  the  mist  and  stood  silently  near, 
listening. 


296 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  All  right.  We  will/'  answered  Cherry,  in  tone 
glad ;  and  wheeled  her  horse. 

"  But  tell  'em  if  they  want  fight  jus'  for  the  sake  o' 
fightin'  they  can  get  it.  We're  armed  an'  we  can 
shoot,"  called  the  foreman,  after  them,  defiantly. 

"  They  wouldn't  care  for  that"  scofifed  Cherry, 
stanch  to  the  camp,  although  appearing  to  betray  it. 
"  They're  not  afraid !  " 

Phil  doubted  the  entire  force  of  the  foreman's  dec- 
laration. He  had  noted  that  the  second  figure  dis- 
played no  weapon. 

With  Cherry  he  rode  back.  They  were  guided  by 
that  jingle,  now  much  plainer  and  mingled  with  the 
scrape  of  leather  and  the  crackle  of  hoofs  among  the 
sage.  Abruptly  out  of  the  dimness  loomed  obscure 
the  bunch  of  horsemen  descending  along  the  swale; 
Cherry   spurred   to  meet  and   intercept   them. 

"Wait!"   she   cried.     "Wait!" 

"  Not  by  a  jugful ! "  muttered  Old  Jess,  from  the 
front  rank.     "  Get  out  o'  the  way.     We'll  wait  later." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  anyway  ?  "  demanded 
Mr.  Simms.  "  Here — ^you  and  Phil  and  Chet  and  the 
hawss  wrangler  go  back  to  camp.  You  aren't  wanted, 
any  of  yuh." 

"No,  no!"  protested  Cherry.  "Wait.  You  must 
wait."  She  weaved  Sukie  back  and  forth  before  them, 
as  if  to  hold  them.  "  He'll  take  his  sheep  out.  He 
said  so.     He  sent  us  to  tell  you." 

"He  will,  will  he?" 

"  He'll  take  'em  out  by  the  tails,  then." 

"We'll  tend  to  all  that  for  him." 


MISTRESS  CHERRY   TO  THE   RESCUE     297 

"  Mutton  for  all.     Come  on,  boys." 

A  medley  of  angry  remarks  was  delivered.  And 
diet  took  occasion  to  reproach,  of  Phil : 

"  Aw,  what'd  you  go  off  and  leave  me  for?  " 

"  But  he  said  he  would,  first  thing  in  the  morning. 
He  did — ^and  he  meant  it,  too ;  didn't  he,  Phil  ? "  pur- 
sued Cherry,  desperately.  "  He  doesn't  want  his 
sheep  killed.  He's  ready  to  talk  with  you.  They've 
had  water,  now.  He  only  wanted  water  for  them. 
Please  wait." 

She  was  almost  crying. 

"That's  the  truth,"  corroborated  Phil. 

"  Who  told  you  two  to  butt  in  ?  "  attacked  a  voice. 

But  Old  Jess  asked,  crossly: 

"  Where  is  he,  then,  with  his  talk  ?  " 

"  Back  in  the  sage.  I'll  take  you  to  him,"  answered 
Phil. 

"  I  reckon  we  can  find  him  without  you,  if  we  have 
to." 

"  Say,  are  yu  goin'  to  talk  with  that  skunk  ? " 
The  demand  was  in  Buster's  curt,  indignant  tones. 

"  Mebbe  we'd  better.     Shall  we,  George  ?  " 

"  I'm  with  you,"  responded  Mr.  Simms. 

A  sullen  murmur  ran  now  here,  now  there,  through 
the  group. 

"  But  what  about  us  ?  "  demanded  Dick. 

"  You  stay  where  you  are.  We'll  be  back  in  a  min- 
ute."    And  the  two  rode  on. 

"Yes;  *wait,'  jes'  like  the  girl  told  us  to,"  com- 
mented somebody,  sarcastically. 

This  raised  a  laugh — but  slight  and  of  short  dura- 


298 


BAR   B    BOYS 


tion.  The  horsemen  shifted  irksomely  in  their 
saddles. 

"  Listen  to  the  woollies  baa,  will  yuh !  ** 

"Faugh!" 

"  What's  the  use  in  talkin'  ?     He's  had  his  chance." 

"  There's  only  one  way  to  talk.  That's  with  a 
thirty-thirty." 

"  Or  a  forty-five." 

"Come  on,  boys.  Shall  we  pile  'em,  anyway? 
That's  what  we're  here  for."  'Twas  the  belligerent 
Pete  who  spoke. 

"  Pete  wants  his  mutton." 

"  Shore  I  do,"  agreed  Pete.  "  An'  I  want  some 
fun,  too.  Ain't  been  in  a  sheep  pile-up  for  two 
years." 

"  Mutton'd  taste  powerful  good,"  sighed  Haney. 
"  Grub  pi-ile." 

"  Sheep  pi-ile,  yuh  mean,"  corrected  Dick. 

"What'd  you  go  off  and  leave  me  for?  "  reproached 
Chet,  again,  of  Phil. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  defended  Phil. 

"  Was  ridin'  with  his  girl,"  sneered  Bud  the 
wrangler. 

"  Shut  up,  you  hawss  jingler,"  silenced  Chet,  tartly. 

"  There  they  come,"  announced  somebody. 

The  group  awaited  the  report  of  Old  Jess  and  Mr, 
Simms,  who  could  be  descried  returning. 

"  Well,  it's  all  right,  boys,"  said  the  veteran  cattle- 
man. "  He  back-tracks  with  his  woollies,  first  thing 
in  the  morning." 

"  He  does,  does  he  ?  "  replied  Buster,  boldly.     "  I 


MISTRESS  CHERRY   TO  THE   RESCUE    299 

don't  savvy  that  *  all  right '  business.     We're  goin'  to 
let  him,  are  we?  " 

"  I  reckon  we  are." 

"  I  reckon  we  aren't.  What'd  we  take  this  ride  for 
— our  healths?  " 

"  No,  for  his,  looks  like,"  commented  somebody, 
slyly. 

"For  Buster's,  too;  thought  he  was  kind  o'  pale 
and  peaked.     Can't  eat,"  supplemented  somebody  else. 

"  To  pile  up  the  sheep  means  a  fight,  boys,  and  some 
one'll  get  hurt,"  explained  Old  Jess,  farther.  "  He 
means  business — an'  if  he'll  take  his  sheep  out  peace- 
able we'd  better  let  him.  Any  one  of  us  is  worth 
more'n  his  whole  outfit,  an'  in  the  mix-up  he's  jes'  as 
likely  to  pot  us  as  we  are  to  pot  him.  We'll  send  a 
man  or  two  along  with  him  in  the  mornin',  to  see  that 
he  keeps  the  trail  an'  don't  stop." 

"  Don't  yuh  try  to  send  me,"  growled  Buster.  "  I 
ain't  got  down  to  breathin'  sheep-dust  yet." 

"  He  still  claims  he  came  in  by  mistake.  That  those 
two  fellers  told  him  this  was  reserve  and  they'd  pass 
him  through,"  was  saying  Mr.  Simms.  "  Better  give 
him  the  benefit  o'  the  doubt.  Of  course,  he  was 
blamed  spunky  yesterday  afternoon.  But  nozv  he's 
going  to  take  his  sheep  out.  And  that's  what  we 
want.  If  it  was  the  owners  of  the  sheep  with  'em  I'd 
be  for  teaching  a  lesson — but  he's  only  boss  and  per- 
haps he  wouldn't  get  a  square  deal  from  them  after 
it  was  all  over." 

"  Huh ! "  growled  Buster,  still  unmollified. 

The  party  faltered  and  fidgeted.     The  ardor  was 


300 


BAR   B    BOYS 


cooling.  The  veteran  cattleman  decided  for  the 
waverers. 

"  Well,"  he  quoth.  "  'Most  time  for  the  cavvy  to 
come  in.     Let's  go  to  camp,  boys." 

"  An'  don't  we  get  a  mutton,  even  ?  "  queried  Pete, 
aggrievedly,  as  the  party  turned. 

"Out  on  the  roundup,  boys,  I  tell  yuh  what  yuh  get — 
Little  chunk  o'  bread  an'  a  little  chunk  o'  meat; 
Little  black  coffee,  boys,  chuck  full  o'  alkali " 

chanted  Haney,  softly. 

"  Yuh  can  ride  over  early  in  the  momin'  and  dicker 
with  him,  Pete !  "  proposed  Old  Jess,  grimly. 

"  Not  on  yore  life ! "  repudiated  Pete,  in  scorn. 
"  Any  sheepman  who  dickers  with  me'll  have  to  come 
to  my  fire.  I  ain't  buyin'  my  mutton,  either.  Not  in 
cattle  country." 

The  party  rode  on  in  silence.     Cherry  sighed. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad." 

"Mus'  be  yu  don't  like  mutton,"  accused  Buster, 
disgustedly.  "  What'd  yu  come  interferin'  for — 
spoilin'  our  picnic?" 

"  I'd  got  those  sheep  people  in  trouble  by  telling  on 
them,  so  I  tried  to  get  them  out,"  elucidated  Cherry, 
promptly. 

"Well,  yu  shore  are  a  trouble  maker,"  grumbled 
Buster. 

"She  thought  she  was  doing  right,"  supported 
Mr.  Simms. 

The  men  had  begun  to  talk  more  freely,  with  re- 


MISTRESS  CHERRY  TO  THE  RESCUE    301 

marks  varied.  Loudest  of  all  in  his  assertions  and 
complainings  was  Bud  the  wrangler;  and  presently  he 
came  sidling  between  Chet  and  Phil. 

"  What  do  you  say,"  he  communicated,  confiden- 
tially. "  You  two  an'  me  an'  Pete  an'  Buster  '11  sneak 
back  an'  get  a  mutton.  I  bet  we  could  do  it.  Then 
we'll  pile  up  some  sheep  an'  skip." 

"  Aw,  pish !     Yuh  make  me  sick,"  rebuked  Chet. 

Bud  faded. 

"  What'd  you  go  off  and  leave  me  for  ?  "  reiterated 
Chet,  to  Phil. 

"  But  I  couldn't  help  it.  Honest,  I  couldn't,"  pro- 
tested Phil.  "  You  see— Cherry  started  out  and  I 
followed." 

He  stopped  short.  He  didn't  wish  to  appear  to 
blame  her — she  being  a  girl. 

"  But  what'd  you  two  go  and  interfere  for,  any- 
way?" scolded  Chet.  "We'd  give  (sometimes  Chet 
waxed  ungrammatical)  him  his  chance  and  he 
wouldn't  take  it  He'd  ought  to  have  his  sheep  piled 
up." 

"But  Phil  didn't  interfere,"  interposed  Cherry, 
quickly.  "  He  didn't  know  anything  about  it  until  he 
caught  me,  and  then  he  tried  to  make  me  come  back. 
But  I  wouldn't." 

This  exoneration  spread;  for  in  due  time  Phil 
found  himself  reinstated  to  his  former  standing  as  a 
member  of  the  camp.  And  even  the  resentment 
against  Mistress  Cherry  speedily  paled.  Not  that  she 
cared,  apparently,  whether  or  no ;  for  a  more  independ- 


302 


BAR   B    BOYS 


ent  creature  never  breathed.     The  quality  was  one 
that  the  men  could  not  help  but  admire. 

"  Grub  pi-ile/'  murmured  Haney,  that  night — or 
that  morning — as  he  again  crawled  into  bed.  "  An' 
nothin'  but  beef.     Pity  the  pore  cowboy." 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

PEPPER  SEEKS  THE  WILD  BUNCH 

"  This  ain't  a  roundup.  This  is  a  shoveup,"  de- 
clared Old  Jess,  scornfully,  as  they  rode  along. 

"Why?"  invited  Phil. 

"Why!"  grunted  Old  Jess.  "Because  it  is.  It's 
a  shoveup  from  the  winter  range  to  the  summer 
range.  O'  course  we  make  a  point  to  brand  the 
calves  an'  cut  out  the  herds,  but  it's  no  reg'lar  round- 
up like  in  the  plains  country.  On  the  plains  we  set 
out  in  April,  soon  as  the  grass  was  green,  an'  rode 
our  circles  'till  we'd  gathered  all  the  critters  in  the 
district  at  the  rodero  ground — know  what  that  is?" 

"  No,  unless  it  comes  from  *  rodeo,'  "  confessed 
Phil. 

He  was  enjoying  Old  Jess,  who  was  in  one  of  his 
rare  talkative  reminiscent  moods. 

"  It  does,  I  reckon.  *  Rodear '  is  Spanish  for  round- 
in'-up,  and  *  rodero '  mus'  be  the  roundup  itself. 
Anyhow,  that's  how  we  use  it,  pronounced  on  the  sec- 
ond syl'ble.  And  after  all  the  critters  been  gathered 
each  outfit  cut  out  its  own  animals  an'  tuk  'em  away 
to  the  home  range.  Cattle  on  the  plains'd  drift  a 
hundred  miles  durin'  the  winter,  and  the  roundup  dis- 
trict might  cover  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  No,  this 
ain't  a  roundup.     There   ain't  roundups  any  more. 

303 


304 


BAR   B    BOYS 


I've  seen  forty  wagons  an*  two  hundred  men  together. 
Yes,  sir;  forty  fires  agoin'.  That  was  a  picnic  for 
the  cowboys.  We  started  when  there  was  grazin'  for 
the  hawsses,  and  we  were  gone  'till  the  summer,  sleep- 
in'  on  the  ground  an'  livin'  off  the  chuck-wagon,  an' 
renewin'  acquaintance  with  other  cowboys." 

Phil  reflected. 

"  But  those  days  are  gone — and  the  long-horn  breed 
o'  punchers  and  o'  cattle  is  gone,  too.  I'm  one  o'  the 
last  men  who  rode  the  Texas  Trail,  I  reckon ;  and  that 
banded  steer  in  the  wild  bunch  of  the  Little  Squaw 
country  is  the  only  long-horn  animal  I've  seen  in  ten 
year — and  he's  a  throw-back." 

"  Where  are  the  long-homed  cattle,  like  those  in 
pictures  ?  "  asked  Phil. 

"Quit.  Played  out.  The  cattleman  to-day  wants 
beef,  not  horn.  He  can  get  it,  because  cattle  aren't 
trailed  any  more  from  Texas  clean  up  into  Kansas  and 
Montana,  like  they  once  were  when  we  needed  the 
little  ol'  Texas  dogie  with  his  four-foot  spread  o'  horn, 
who  could  travel  his  three  mile  an  hour,  and  the  Texas 
boys  to  drive  him.  He  was  good  enough  for  the 
Injun  an'  the  soldier.  O'  course,  up  here  everything 
is  a  short-horn,  anyway.  Cows  taken  into  the  moun- 
tains an'  the  timber  breed  to  shorter  horns,  as  a  rule. 
That  banded  steer  is  part  of  a  Texas  herd.  His 
mother  was  from  Texas.  But  he's  gone  back  o'  her 
several  generations.  Does  my  eyes  good  whenever  I 
see  him.  Do  you  know  how  to  tell  the  age  of  a 
cow?" 

"  No." 


PEPPER   SEEKS  THE   WILD   BUNCH  305 

**By  the  horns.  A  yearlin's  horns  are  rough. 
When  she's  two-year-old  her  horns  are  smoother  an' 
the  roughness  gets  to  be  a  button  on  the  tip.  Horns 
of  a  three-year-old  have  lost  that  button  and  are 
sharp.  Some  folks  claim  the  horns  hold  a  wrinkle 
for  every  year.  And  you'll  have  to  remember  that  a 
yearlin's  a  yearlin'  till  she's  two  years  old,  and  a  two- 
year-old  till  she's  three.  Three-year-old's  tail  begins 
to  almost  touch  the  ground.  Long  tail,  old  cow. 
Down  in  Texas  they  used  to  put  a  figger  on  the  calf 
when  they  branded  it,  to  show  the  year.  Once  in  a 
while  now  you'll  come  across  an  animal  branded  that 
way,  with  the  range  brand  and  a  number — a  six,  or 
eight,  or  two,  as  happens,  to  tell  the  year  it  was  born. 
O'  course  the  only  sure  way,  when  you're  partic'lar, 
is  to  throw  the  critter  and  examine  its  mouth.  But 
an  experienced  cowman  usu'ly  can  look  at  a  cow  from 
the  saddle  an'  guess  mighty  close." 

The  roundup  was  nearing  completion.  One  by  one 
the  various  outfits  whose  range  lay  adjoining  had 
taken  their  herds  and  left.  The  Reverse  R  had 
dropped  out;  the  Flying  U,  the  Triangle  Cross,  the 
Open  A,  the  Boot  and  the  Three  I  (last  to  join)  ;  all 
had  eventually  diverged,  at  the  proper  places,  and 
gone  upon  their  own  trail,  seeking  their  own  recog- 
nized summer  pastures.  Only  the  Lazy  J  remained, 
keeping  its  herd  separate  but  traveling  on  in  company 
with  the  Bar  B. 

Larger  even  than  the  Lazy  J's  was  the  Bar  B  herd ; 
so  large,  in  fact,  that  two  herds  had  been  made  of  it — ■ 
one  of  the  steers,  and  one  of  the  cows  or  she-stock. 


3o6 


BAR   B    BOYS 


And  thus,  in  three  columns,  the  twain  outfits  steadily 
advanced,  into  the  higher  country,  making  for  the 
summer  range. 

Phil,  riding  with  the  cavalry  behind  the  she-stock 
herd,  had  become  thoroughly  hardened.  There  was 
nothing  of  the  convalescent  about  him.  Not  only  was 
the  pneumonia  a  thing  of  the  remote  past,  but  all  his 
saddle-welts  and  blisters  and  stirrup-sores  had  suc- 
cumbed completely  or  had  been  changed  to  harmless 
callouses.  He  sat  his  saddle  with  never  a  thought  of 
himself;  no  more  did  he  clutch  the  horn  when  career- 
ing through  the  brush ;  he  was  perfectly  competent  to 
catch  his  horse  out  of  the  herd — but  he  did  not  yet 
pretend  to  roping  from  horseback.  As  a  plain  roper, 
afoot,  he  was  passable.  But  he  could  ride,  and  ride, 
and  ride,  with  the  toughest. 

The  day  was  hot.  However,  the  program  of  late 
had  been  straight  driving,  with  only  occasional  side 
excursions  to  gather  in  a  few  strays,  all,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions. Bar  B  or  Lazy  J ;  for  the  cattle  were  still  on 
the  lower  levels,  whither  winter  had  held  them  or  the 
spring  and  quest  of  water  had  impelled  them. 

"  There's  a  critter  or  two,"  abruptly  indicated  Old 
Jess,  who  after  his  brief  dissertation  upon  roundups, 
long-horns,  and  connected  matters,  had  lapsed  into  si- 
lence.    "  Bring  'em  in,  you  two  boys." 

On  the  Bar  B  side,  across  the  rolling  sandy  flat 
which  they  were  traversing,  could  be  noted  several 
cattle  grazing.  For  them  the  boys  headed,  racing 
along  at  a  free  gallop;  and  parted,  to  close  in  behind 
them  from  opposite  directions. 


PEPPER   SEEKS  THE   WILD   BUNCH  307 

Giet  had  the  easier  time  of  it ;  the  two  animals  on 
his  flank  allowed  themselves  to  be  circumvented 
readily,  and  in  docile  manner  they  trotted  before  him, 
in  the  direction  of  the  herds.  But  the  third  animal, 
a  roan  mammy  cow,  thin  and  long-legged,  veered 
from  Phil's  onrush,  and  breaking  back  repeatedly 
kept  him  and  Pepper  busy.  Chet  laughed  with  de- 
risive glee. 

"  She's  got  a  calf  back  in  the  timber  somewhere,  I 
bet,"  he  called.     "  Let  her  go  and  come  along.'* 

Phil  and  Pepper  were  not  disposed  to  let  her  go. 
It  was  a  game,  with  the  roan  cow  dodging  and  turn- 
ing, and  boy  and  horse  constantly  intercepting  her. 
On  the  edge  of  a  shallow  arroyo,  at  the  base  of  the 
cedared  slope  which  came  down  to  meet  the  flat.  Pep- 
per slipped  in  the  treacherous  gravelly  sand,  and  slid 
upon  his  side.  Phil  instinctively  threw  himself  clear 
(he  was  mindful  of  his  legs,  not  to  get  them  caught) 
and  he  too  went  plunging  and  plowing.  The  bridle 
lines  were  torn  from  his  hand. 

Pepper  regained  feet  first;  when  Phil  scrambled 
to  his.  Pepper  was  standing,  gazing  in  alert,  suspicious 
way  all  about,  and  the  roan  cow  was  trotting  off 
through  the  cedars. 

Pepper  snorted,  loudly.  For  some  inexplicable 
reason  he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  a  panic.  He  held 
his  head  high,  and  his  ears  were  pricked,  and  he  con- 
tinued to  stare  and  with  long-drawn  breaths  to  sniff 
the  atmosphere.     Phil  approached  him  very  cautiously. 

"  Here,  Pepper.  Whoa-oa,  now.  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  yuh  ?     Steady  ! " 


3o8 


BAR   B    BOYS 


Certainly  there  was  nothing  in  a  mere  faUing  down 
to  make  a  horse  act  so. 

Pepper  started  to  walk,  irresolutely.  This  was 
alarming  to  Phil,  for  no  well-bred  cow-horse  is  sup- 
posed to  move  when  his  lines  are  on  the  ground. 

"  Whoa  !  What's  the  matter  with  yuh/you  fool  !  " 
Phil,  cow-boy,  spoke  to  Pepper,  cow-horse. 

Pepper  hesitated.  Authority  hailed  him — but  some- 
thing else,  unfathomed  by  Phil,  also  was  hailing. 
Again  Pepper  snorted;  and  then,  with  a  succession 
of  snorts,  head  high,  ears  pricked,  lines  dangling  about 
his  forefeet,  away  he  went,  at  a  trot,  faster,  faster, 
climbing  into  the  cedars. 

Vainly  Phil  ran  clumsily  after,  and  panted,  angrily : 

"  Hey  !  Whoa  !  "  Pepper  paid  no  attention ;  the 
cedars  swallowed  him;  from  among  them  he  whin- 
nied shrilly — ^but  it  was  not  for  his  master.  He 
continued  to  whinny,  at  intervals,  until  his  silly  fal- 
setto died  in  the  distance. 

Phil  halted,  breathless,  stunned.  Pepper,  of  all 
horses,  to  serve  him  such  a  trick  !  And  now  what 
was  he,  himself,  to  do — thus  left  afoot,  in  chaps  and 
high-heeled  boots,  and  in  a  country  where  walking 
was  neither  the  fashion  nor  locomotion  easy. 

The  chase  after  the  roan  cow  (confound  her  !)  had 
taken  him  into  a  little  draw  leading  off  from  the  flat. 
He  was  out  of  sight  of  the  herds;  he  was  out 
of  sight  of  Chet.  Nobody  knew  his  predicament. 
And  what  ought  he  to  do  ?  Chase  after  Pepper  ? 
No;  inasmuch  as  Pepper  had  disappeared  among  the 
timber  the  proper  thing  to  do,  now,  in  the  crisis,  was, 


PEPPER   SEEKS  THE   WILD   BUNCH  309 

it  seemed,  get  another  horse.  Anyway,  get  in  touch 
with  help:  man  or  horse.  So  he  shuffled  quickly  to 
the  juncture  of  draw  and  flat  and  looked  for  Chet. 

His  heart  sank.  Chet  was  continuing  on,  across 
the  flat,  driving  the  two  cows.  Far  distant  were  the 
herds  themselves,  also  continuing,  and  going  almost 
directly  away  from  him.  If  Chet  did  not  look  back 
and  espy  him  thus  afoot,  small  was  the  chance  that 
he  would  be  espied  by  anybody.  He  groaned  at  the 
prospect  of  having  to  catch  up,  by  hook  or  crook, 
afoot. 

Shucks  !  But  he  started  on,  making  what  speed 
he  could,  accoutered  as  he  was,  amidst  the  brush, 
under  the  burning  sun.  He  whooped  his  loudest,  to 
attract  attention;  putting  his  hands  either  side  of  his 
mouth  and  using  lungs  and  throat  to  the  limit.  Then 
he  toiled  on  again,  stumbling  and  perspiring. 

Chet,  riding  methodically,  drew  farther  and  farther 
away.  The  driven  herds  formed  a  confused  mass, 
marked  chiefly  by  the  dust  which  they  were  raising. 
Very  small  felt  Phil,  trudging  ignominiously  after, 
essaying  to  cover  distance  with  his  puny  steps;  very 
small,  and  somewhat  vexed  and  somewhat  abashed. 
However,  he  was  certain  that  he  had  not  lost  Pepper 
through  fault  of  his  own.  He  ought  not  to  have  let 
go  of  the  lines,  but  they  had  been  wrenched  from 
him.  Moreover,  Pepper  was  to  blame ;  Pepper  should 
not  have  refused  to  stand.  He  had  acted  unac- 
countably. 

Phil  had  no  fear  that  he  would  not  rejoin  the 
roundup  camp.     He  had  only  to  keep  going  until  he 


3IO 


BAR   B    BOYS 


struck  the  trail  made  by  the  drive,  and  then  to  follow 
persistently.  The  chances  were  that  when  he  did  not 
turn  up  somebody  would  be  sent  back  to  look  for  him. 
But  he  did  not  fancy  this  walking  when  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  riding.  No  cowboy  likes  to  walk  ! 
And  he  was  a  cowboy. 

However,  while  he  was  plugging  ahead,  wrathfully 
cogitating  as  he  zigzagged  through  the  constantly 
impeding  sage  and  greasewood,  his  heart  suddenly 
lightened  hopefully.  Chet  had  halted,  and  had  turned 
in  the  saddle  to  gaze  behind  him. 

Frantically  yelled  Phil,  and  waved  his  hat,  wishing 
that  he  were  twenty  feet  tall  or  could  send  up  a 
rocket.  But  presently  Chet's  keen  eyes  must  have 
seen,  anyway,  for  back  he  came,  at  a  trot. 

Once  assured  that  Chet  had  actually  sighted  him, 
Phil  sat  down,  more  content,  and  rested.  When  Chet 
was  near,  and  peering  right  and  left,  he  stood  again. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Where's  your  horse  ?  "  de- 
manded Chet. 

"  He  ran  away." 

"  Throw  you  off  ?  " 

"Not  exactly.  No.  He  fell  down  with  me,  and 
then  he  wouldn't  let  me  catch  him." 

"Where'd  he  go  ?" 

"Up  through  the  cedars,  there." 

"  You  went  at  him  too  brash,  I  bet.  Ought  to've 
gone  up  to  him  slow  and  easy,  talking  to  him ;  then 
he'd  have  let  you  catch  him,"  decreed  Chet,  wisely. 

"That's  what  I  did,"  defended  Phil.  "But  he 
didn't  give  me  much  chance.     He  stood  for  just  a 


PEPPER   SEEKS  THE   WILD   BUNCH  311 

moment,  then  he  started  into  the  cedars  whinnying, 
and  that's  the  last  I  heard  or  saw  of  him.  How'll 
I  get  to  camp  ?  I  can't  walk"  he  added,  in  regula- 
tion cow-puncher  disgust. 

"  Maybe  this  hawss  '11  carry  double.  Get  up  and 
see,"  invited  Chet.  "If  he  don't  throw  you  off  I'll 
take  you  in.  Or  you  can  stay  here  and  I'll  come  back 
for  you  with  a  horse  out  of  the  cawy." 

"  Don't  know  whether  Camel  Face  '11  carry  double, 
or  not,"  he  continued,  as  Phil  carefully  mounted,  and 
sat  behind  with  his  grasp  upon  the  cantle.  "  Look 
out,  now.  Don't  you  go  pulling  me  off,  too,  when 
you  tumble." 

But  Camel  Face  proceeded  peaceably.  At  walk  and 
at  trot  (the  latter  jouncing  Phil,  insecure  behind  the 
saddle,  most  maliciously,  as  seemed  to  him)  they 
picked  their  way  through  the  brush.  Chet  insisted 
upon  driving  the  two  cows.  And  thus,  bringing  the 
two  animals  and  only  the  one  horse  they  at  last  over- 
took the  drive. 

To  the  cautious,  but  interested  queries  upon  his 
plight,  Phil,  red-faced  with  the  jolting  and  with  the 
vexation,  earnestly  related  his  experience. 

"  Didn't  yuh  keep  hold  the  lines  ?  "  asked  Old  Jess. 

"  It  was  all  soft,  and  when  I  threw  myself  clear  I 
went  sliding  and  they  were  jerked  out  of  my  hands." 

"  He  wouldn't  stand  for  you  to  ketch  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  No;  and  of  course  I  didn't  have  my  rope." 

"  We  're  up  in  the  wild-horse  country.  That's  what 
the  matter  is,"  asserted  Mr.  Simms,  who  had  come 
over  from  the  cow-herd. 


312 


BAR    B    BOYS 


"  Yes ;  he  smell  'em.  Now  he  go  find  'em,"  con- 
curred Hombre. 

"  He  took  my  saddle  and  bridle  and  rope  and 
everything.     I  want  those,"  declared  Phil. 

"  And  I  want  that  hawss.  He's  worth  sixty  dollars. 
One  o'  the  best  hawsses  in  the  herd,"  announced  Mr. 
Simms,  emphatically.  "  By  ginger,  I  wouldn't  take 
sixty  dollars  for  him." 

"  Won't  he  ever  come  back  ?  "  exclaimed  Cherry. 
"  Phil  can  have  one  of  my  horses." 

"  Perhaps  he'll  find  the  herd  and  come  back  with 
that,"  volunteered  Phil. 

"No,  he  follow  up  those  wil'  boss,"  afifirmed 
Hombre.     "  Like  wil'  boss  better  than  tame  boss." 

"  We'll  have  to  night-hawk  that  herd,  for  a  while," 
said  Mr.  Simms,  "or  we'll  lose  every  hawss  in  the 
bunch." 

"  I  suppose  the  boy  an'  Chet  had  better  set  right 
out  on  his  trail,  an'  not  quit  'till  they  find  him," 
grunted  Old  Jess.  "  Sooner  he's  found  the  better, 
too.  If  he's  gone  long  he  won't  be  wuth  the 
cat'ridge  to  shoot  him  with  for  sake  o'  the  saddle." 

"  No;  he  get  to  like  it,  then  he  always  run,"  agreed 
Hombre. 

"  That's  so,"  nodded  Buster.  "  Might  as  well  shoot 
him." 

"  Shall  we  shoot  him,  dad,  if  we  have  to  ? "  in- 
quired Chet. 

"  Give  him  a  good  long  try,  first.  You'll  get  him, 
if  you  can  see  him  once.  Keep  after  him.  He  may 
tangle  up  in   the   bridle   lines,   or  the   saddle'll   slip 


PEPPER   SEEKS  THE   WILD  BUNCH    313 

around  under  his  belly  and  hold  him.  Anyway,  don't 
shoot  unless  it's  the  last  thing  left." 

"  They  may  never  sight  him  at  all,"  said  Buster. 
"He's  a  Green  River  hawss,  ain't  he?  Like  as  not 
he'll  work  back  to  the  home  range.  That's  the  way 
they  do." 

"  No;  he  follow  wil'  hoss,"  insisted  Hombre.  "  Lots 
of  wil'  hoss  through  here." 

"  When  the  cavvy  comes  in  this  evening  Phil  can 
take  another  hawss,  and  you  two  boys  go  over  to  the 
wild-hawss  camp  at  Mustang  Hole  and  mebbe  they'll 
make  a  surround  with  you  and  you'll  get  him," 
directed  Mr.  Simms. 

"All  right,"  exclaimed  Chet,  with  alacrity. 

"  I  hope  we  do  get  him,"  proffered  Phil,  as  they 
rode  on  double. 

And  he  meant  it.  Pepper  was  his  favorite.  Gray 
Jack  came  next.  Medicine  Eye  was  a  pretty  good 
horse,  when  one  was  careful  not  to  interfere  with  his 
back  cinch  region.  So  was  Red  Bird.  Even  Bow- 
legs was  a  mount  to  be  fond  of ;  he  was  big  and  strong 
and  went  crashing  through  the  stoutest  sage,  never 
attempting  to  jump  or  dodge.  But  Pepper,  active, 
alert,  wiry,  always  willing,  was  the  best. 

At  the  camp,  while  dinner  was  preparing  and  be- 
fore the  cavvy  had  been  driven  in,  Pete  (as  to  be  ex- 
pected) discoursed  to  the  assembly  upon  his  ex- 
periences. 

"  When  I  was  ridin*  for  the  Box  C  we  lost  a  hawss 
jes'  this  way — got  loose  an*  the  man  couldn't  ketch 
him,  an'  he  ran  off  to  join  the  wild  hawsses.     The 


314 


BAR   B    BOYS 


man  follered  that  hawss  for  a  month,  an'  when  he  got 
him  the  saddle  blankets  had  growed  right  into  the  flesh 
so  hide  an'  all  come  off  with  'em.  Had  to  kill  the 
hawss.     Mouth  was  all  sore  from  the  bit,  too." 

Phil  hoped  that  this  would  not  be  Pepper's  con- 
dition. It  seemed  rather  an  uncertain  hunt,  this — 
seeking  a  stray  horse  in  such  a  boundless  expanse  of 
country,  hilly  and  timbered.  A  needle  in  a  hay-stack 
was  about  as  practicable. 

Pete  was  continuing. 

"An'  saddled  an'  bridled  like  he  was  he'd  run  the 
wild  hawsses  plumb  out  the  country;  further  they 
got,  further  he  got." 

This  assertion  did  not  simplify  the  situation  any. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE  WILD-HORSE  CAMP 

"  Are  they  regular  wild  horses  ?  "  asked  Phil,  as 
he  and  Chet  rode  out  through  the  twilight,  across 
the  park  wherein  the  roundup  camp  (what  was  left 
of  it)  had  been  located  for  the  night. 

"  Some  are.  Of  course  the  old  ones  were  tame 
horses  that  got  away  from  ranchers  or  roundups  or 
cowboys,  but  there  are  a  lot  of  mavericks,  too,  born 
wild.  The  State  claims  these  as  strays,  but  the  wild- 
horse  men  can  buy  *em  for  five  dollars.  The  branded 
stock  is  claimed  by  the  owners  and  the  wild-horse 
men  get  something  for  them.  There  isn't  much  money 
in  wild-hawss  catching,  tho*,  and  it's  awful  hard 
work,  too." 

"Where  is  the  wild-horse  camp?" 

"  Over  in  Mustang  Basin.  I  know  where.  About 
ten  miles  from  here.     We  can  make  it  in  two  hours." 

They  trotted  along,  Chet  upon  Thunder,  Phil  upon 
Gray  Jack. 

"  You  want  to  take  your  top  hawss,"  had  instructed 
Chet.  "  You  need  a  good  hawss,  to  run  other 
hawsses." 

Now  that  Pepper  had  absconded  with  saddle  and 
bridle  Gray  Jack  was  left  the  sole  "top  hawss"  in 
Phil's  string.     Formerly  they  had  shared  the  honors 

315 


3i6 


BAR   B    BOYS 


— with  Pepper  perhaps  a  little  in  the  lead.  But 
mounting  Gray  Jack  this  evening,  Phil  had  mentally 
apologized  to  him  for  ever  having  rated  him  as  second. 
He  surely  would  not  be  such  an  ingrate  as  to  desert, 
basely,  carrying  with  him  valuable  property  and  dis- 
regarding the  plight  of  his  master. 

Phil  felt  rather  sore  about  Pepper.  Were  it  not 
for  that  extra  saddle  and  bridle  which  he  had  used 
before  falling  heir  to  the  equipment  of  the  man  with 
the  frozen  smile,  he  would  indeed  be  in  a  fix.  He 
might  have  borrowed  Pete's  outfit — but  Pete  was 
liable  to  want  it  again  any  time;  he  was  so  erratic. 
Moreover,  Pepper  did  not  know  that  there  was  the 
extra  saddle.     He  would  have  put  his  master  afoot. 

Besides,  a  fellow  liked  to  be  using  his  own. 

Mr.  Simms  had  mildly  suggested  that  Chet  have  the 
rifle,  as  being  more  accustomed  to  one;  and  as  being 
less  apt  to  shoot  unnecessarily.  Phil  had  meekly 
turned  the  little  gun  and  scabbard  over,  and  they  now 
were  under  Chefs  left  leg. 

"  But  I  don't  want  that  hawss  shot,  remember," 
had  instructed  the  cattleman,  sternly.  "You  try  him 
to  the  limit,  without.  Scout  around  through  that 
Mustang  country,  and  when  you  sight  him  work  up 
to  him  easy,  and  like  as  not  you  won't  even  have  to 
put  a  rope  on  him.  Those  wild-hawss  men  will  help 
you.     You  can  stay  at  their  camp." 

Chet  had  listened  gravely.  He  had  the  mien  of  one 
who  could  be  depended  upon.  Phil  resigned  the  rifle 
to  him  willingly  enough,  for  upon  him  were  resting 
the  responsibilities  of  the  expedition. 


THE   WILD-HORSE    CAMP  317 

As  they  rode,  the  twilight  changed  from  golden  to 
pink.  A  soft  refulgence,  which  threw  no  high-lights 
nor  shadows,  flooded  the  cedars.  The  world  was 
growing  quiet;  a  few  birds  twittered  as  they  flitted 
here  and  there  within  easy  access  of  their  favorite 
roosting  places;  several  times  rabbits  went  hopping 
through  among  the  low  trees,  or  amidst  the  bushes. 
The  mountain-range  to  the  south,  displayed  in  all  its 
ruggedness  as  the  boys  followed  along  a  ridge,  stood 
out  gloriously  rose  and  purple,  with  one  snowy  peak, 
the  highest,  just  tipped  by  sunshine. 

In  the  valleys  and  over  the  mountains  the  purple 
gained  upon  the  rose;  the  white  of  the  dazzling  tip 
swiftly  dulled;  it  vanished;  almost  imperceptibly,  yet 
surely,  that  soft  refulgence  among  the  cedars  merged 
with  chill  somberness;  and  through  the  dusk,  with 
the  west  still  bright,  but  with  the  stars  marching  up 
out  of  the  east,  the  boys  rode  into  the  wild-horse 
camp. 

This  was  a  dingy  tent  pitched  beside  a  srnall  spring 
at  the  foot  of  a  short  timbered  slope,  and  inhabited 
by  two  men  and  a  shaggy,  aggressive  black  dog.  The 
dog  barked.  One  of  the  men,  with  smooth  thin  face, 
high  cheek-bones  and  slanting  eyes,  stood  in  the  door 
of  the  tent  and  watched  the  approach  of  the  visitors. 
The  other  man,  burly  and  full-bearded,  was  squatting 
without,  pipe  in  mouth,  washing  dishes. 

"  Hello,"  said  Chet,  halting  Thunder. 

Phil  nodded. 

"  How,"  said  the  man  in  the  tent  door.  The  other 
man,  like  Phil,  also  nodded. 


3i8 


BAR   B    BOYS 


The  two  boys  dismounted. 

"  Running  any  hawsses,  these  days  ?  "  asked  Chet, 
casually. 

The  man  who  was  squatting  over  the  dishes  looked 
up  keenly. 

"  Some/'  responded  the  other  man.  "  You're  from 
the  Bar  B,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  George  Simms'  boy,  eh  ?  " 

Chet,  too,  nodded. 

"We  lost  a  hawss,"  he  informed.  "Went  off, 
saddle,  bridle  and  all." 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

"This  afternoon." 

"  You  ridin'  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  was  from  the  Bar  B  herd,  but  this  friend 
of  mine  was  riding  him." 

Both  men  eyed  Phil  as  if  estimating  him.  But  Phil 
had  grown  used  to  this  Western  trait  of  silent,  non- 
committal scrutiny,  and  took  it  coolly. 

"  Throw  you  off  ?  "  addressed  the  squatting  man, 
removing  his  pipe. 

"  I  threw  myself  off,"  explained  Phil.  "  He  slipped 
and  fell  under  me,  and  jerked  the  lines  out  of  my 
hands." 

"  Couldn't  ketch  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  He  went  at  a  trot  through  the  cedars  whinnying 
as  if  he'd  smelled  some  wild  hawsses,"  supplemented 
Chet. 

"  There's  quite  a  few  of  'em  about."     The  man  in 


THE    WILD-HORSE    CAMP  319 

the  tent  door  spoke  laconically.  "  What  hawss  was 
it?" 

"  A  little  speckled  blue,  with  a  diamond  on  his  right 
hip  and  the  Circle  Dot  brand  on  his  right  shoulder.** 

"  You  know  Buster  thought  that  he  might  work 
back  to  Green  River,  where  he  came  from."  reminded 
Phil. 

"  No ;  not  if  he*s  following  any  wild  hawsses," 
stated  the  squatting  man,  decisively.  "  Think  so, 
Fred  ?  " 

"  Never  in  the  world,  till  the  wil*  hawsses  shake 
him.  But  they  won't  have  much  to  do  with  him  long 
as  he  has  that  saddle  an'  bridle  on  him." 

"  I  want  that  saddle  and  bridle,"  declared  Phil. 
"  They're  worth  as  much  as  the  horse." 

"  Can't  be  a  very  good  horse,  then,"  rebuked  the 
man  in  the  doorway,  whose  name  was  Fred.  "  You 
may  have  to  shoot  him  to  get  'em.  He's  likely  to 
use  'em  pretty  hard,  too," 

**  We  want  the  hawss,  too,"  said  Chet,  decidedly. 
"  If  you're  going  to  make  a  surround  pretty  soon  we'll 
stay  and  help,  and  see  if  we  can't  get  him." 

"  Sure,"  said  the  man  Fred.  "  You're  just  in 
time.  There's  a  bunch  that's  been  comin'  in  to  water, 
an'  if  they  come  to-night  we'll  make  a  surround  in 
the  mornin'.     Only  got  our  corral  fixed  to-day." 

"Yes,"  concurred  the  squatting  man,  who  now, 
having  done  the  dishes,  straightened.  He  relighted 
his  pipe.  "  If  you  do  get  him  it'll  save  you  a  lot  o' 
work.  This  is  a  bad  country  to  find  hawsses  in.  You 
might  hunt  him  six  months  and  never  even  sight  him 


320 


BAR   B    BOYS 


— 'specially  if  he's  on  the  trail  of  a  wild  bunch  and 
they're  scared  of  him.  Turn  your  hawsses  into  the 
little  corral  with  ours.    Had  supper?  " 

"  Now,  boys,  it's  this  way,"  elucidated  the  bearded 
man,  as  they  all  lay  upon  the  bedding  inside  the  lan- 
tern-lighted tent.  "  ril  tell  you  in  case  you  don't 
know.  We  won't  have  time  to  talk  in  the  morning. 
The  hawsses  come  in  to  water  at  a  certain  time,  three 
or  four  o'clock,  and  by  a  certain  way.  They're  using 
a  water-hole  across  the  basin,  and  we've  built  a  brush 
corral  down  below  it.  They  come  in  at  the  upper 
end.  We  get  there  just  before  daylight,  and  run  'em 
down  into  the  corral.  Then  if  your  hawss  is  there 
you  can  rope  him  out.     Savvy  ?  " 

The  boys  "  savvied." 

"  How's  your  friend,  on  the  ride  ?  Pretty  good  ?  " 
asked  the  other  man. 

"  Yes ;  he  can  ride  all  right,"  assured  Chet. 

"  He'll  have  to,  or  he'll  get  his  neck  broke,"  re- 
marked the  man.  "  May  get  it  broke  anyway."  He 
yawned.  "  Well,  let's  turn  in,"  he  proposed. 
"  Mornin'  comes  quick  when  you're  goin'  to  run  wU'- 
hawsses." 

The  bedding  was  spread.  They  removed  boots  and 
coats  and  trousers;  and  the  tent  flaps  having  been 
thrown  open  they  all  crawled  in  together,  four  in  a 
row,  under  covers.  The  bearded  man  reached  for 
the  lantern  and  blew  out  its  flame. 

They  lay  quietly.  The  boys  had  been  given  the 
guest  place  in  the  middle — that  being  naturally  the 
warmer  place.     From  without  the  dog  sneaked   in, 


THE    WILD-HORSE    CAMP  321 

to  curl  himself  with  a  sigh  behind  the  yet  warm  camp 
stove.  A  coyote  barked.  In  the  near-by  corral  a 
horse  whinnied  shrilly. 

"  There's  wil-  ones  around  somewheres,  all  right," 
commented  Fred,  sleepily. 

The  other  man  already  was  snoring.  Presently 
Fred  and  Chet  also  were  snoring.  But  Phil  stayed 
awake  for  some  time,  the  morrow's  strenuous  pro- 
gram racing  through  his  mind.  Outside  the  wind 
moaned  dismally.     The  horses  whinnied  no  more. 

While  wondering  where  Pepper  was,  fatuously 
roaming,  saddled  and  bridled,  through  the  timber  and 
the  open,  and  how  he  liked  it,  Phil  fell  asleep. 

His  bed-fellows  stirring  awakened  him.  The 
bearded  man  was  just  lighting  the  lantern.  The  man 
Fred  was  yawningly  pulling  on  boots.  Chet  sleepily 
sat  up. 

"  Tumble  out,  boys,"  bade  the  bearded  man.  "  Be 
ketching  your  hawsses,  and  Til  warm  some  coffee. 
Then  we'll  start." 

The  boys  donned  what  they  had  doffed,  it  seemed 
to  Phil,  only  a  minute  before,  and  following  Fred 
went  stumbling  out  into  the  darkness.  By  this  dark- 
ness and  by  the  chill,  morning  might  have  yet  been 
hours  away.  But  their  eyes  speedily  grew  accustomed 
to  the  obscurity;  and  even  by  the  time  they  had 
reached  the  corral  they  could  see  sufficiently  for  their 
errand. 

In  the  small  brush  enclosure  no  ropes  were  required ; 
bridled,  the  four  mounts  were  led  forth,  and  saddled. 

The  pitch  smoke,  tinging  the  dampish,  murky  at- 


322 


BAR   B    BOYS 


mosphere  of  just-bef ore-dawn,  smelled  good.  It  told 
of  warmth  and  coffee;  and  a  pleasant  sizzling  told  of 
bacon.     The  lantern  shone  through  the  tent  walls. 

"  Here's  coffee,  whoever  wants  some,"  announced 
the  bearded  man,  from  the  flaps,  as  the  three  were 
drawing  on  their  chaps. 

He  did  not  mention  bacon,  but  it  was  there;  and 
sitting  amidst  the  touseled  bedding  they  all  drank, 
hastily,  and  chewed. 

The  dog  gobbled  the  few  scraps. 

"  Right,  oh,"  quoth  the  bearded  man,  rising. 
"  This'll  hold  us  till  we  get  back." 

"  And  weVe  got  no  time  to  lose,  either,"  said  the 
other,  as  the  lantern  was  extinguished  and  they  stepped 
out. 

During  the  brief  meal,  the  dimness  had  grayed  per- 
ceptibly. Dawn  certainly  was  at  hand.  The  sky  was 
paler,  the  stars  not  so  numerous ;  a  bird  chirped,  with 
drowsy,  inquiring  little  voice.  But  he  may  have  been 
dreaming. 

"  Had  this  camp  long  ?  "  asked  Phil,  bluffly,  as  they 
mounted. 

"  Been  here  since  January." 

The  answer  was  rather  startling. 

"  Much  snow  ?  " 

"  'Bout  four  feet  on  the  level." 

In  single  file  they  rode  out,  the  bearded  man  taking 
the  lead,  Phil  bringing  up  the  rear.  He  shivered,  but 
the  motion  of  the  horse  soon  corrected  that. 

At  a  smart  jog  they  proceeded,  winding  through  the 
cedars,  whose  thick,  crooked  trunks  and  low  branches 


THE   WILD-HORSE   CAMP  323 

showed  dimly  in  the  gloom.  Occasionally  stumbling 
upon  fallen  branches  in  their  path  the  horses  kept  the 
file,  each  seeming  to  step  in  the  tracks  of  the  one 
before.  The  bearded  man,  leading,  never  faltered. 
Evidently  he  knew  exactly  where  he  was  going,  and 
no  word  was  spoken. 

So  it  was  jog,  jog,  jog,  on  eerie,  mysterious  quest 
amidst  the  silent,  murky  coppice,  until,  having  traveled 
for  perhaps  half  an  hour,  they  halted. 

"  One  man  stay  here,"  directed  the  leader.  "  You 
boy  that  lost  the  hawss  will  do.  Now,  the  brush  cor- 
ral is  off  yonder,  down  the  draw.  A  wing  of  it 
reaches  up  this  way,  and  another  wing  is  across  op- 
posite. When  it's  lighter  you'll  hear  one  of  us 
whistle.  Then  you  want  to  ride  forward  at  a  jump, 
making  all  the  noise  you  can;  don't  you  let  a  hawss 
get  past  you.  Head  'em  off  if  they  try  it.  Ride  your 
darnedest  and  break  your  neck  if  you  have  to,  but  keep 
moving.  When  we  get  them  pointed  on  down  we 
shove  them  right  along  into  the  corral." 

A  sudden  coughing  snort,  in  the  gloom  beyond, 
and  a  faint  jangle,  interrupted  him.  The  horses,  with 
a  whoof,  stared. 

"  Hear  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Fred.  "  There's  your 
hawss,  I  bet  a  hat.  It's  some  animal  with  a  saddle 
on,  all  right." 

Phil's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  hope. 

"I'll  start  him  down,"  said  the  bearded  man;  he 
rode  on,  and  in  a  moment  with  another  snort  and  a 
crash  and  jangle  the  unseen  creature  went  blundering 
away. 


324 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  He's  inside  the  line,  now ;  we  ought  to  get  him," 
remarked  the  bearded  man,  looming  through  the  dim- 
ness.    "  Come  on,  you  other  fellows." 

They  rode  away,  leaving  Phil  posted  like  a  sentinel, 
or  like  a  hunter  in  a  duck-blind  awaiting  the  morning 
flight.  All  sound  of  them  died  out,  swallowed, 
along  with  themselves,  by  the  gloom. 

However,  the  gloom  was  fading;  it  was  waning  to 
a  thin  gray,  through  which  the  bushes  and  the  tree- 
trunks  showed  plainer  and  plainer.  Birds  twittered 
and  fluttered  unseen.  The  dawn  was  at  hand,  and 
Phil  harked  nervously  for  the  whistle  signal.  It  came 
— a  clear,  but  distant  note,  token  for  him  to  move  into 
action.  At  the  prick  of  the  spur  jammed  against  his 
side  Gray  Jack  sprang  forward;  and  with  his  ears 
pointed  as  if  he,  too,  was  alert,  trotted  ahead. 

What  was  to  happen,  now  ? 

Standing  in  his  stirrups  Phil  peered  anxiously  be- 
fore. The  ground  sloped  away,  and  the  direction 
which  seemed  natural  for  him  to  take  bore  diagonally 
adown.  Down-hill  riding — especially  on  the  jump — 
was  hard  work.     However,  he  was  in  for  it. 

A  sudden  series  of  shrill  shouts  came  echoing 
across  to  him ;  they  were  taken  up  and  repeated  along 
the  unseen  line,  and  he  joined  in.  They  sounded  as 
though  something  had  been  caught,  already. 

A  rabbit  ran  affrightedly  athwart  his  path,  fleeing 
from  the  left.  And  more  interesting,  another  animal, 
with  sharp  ears,  sharp  snout,  and  bushy  tail  held  low 
behind  yellowing,  shaggy  body  came  loping,  so  intent 
upon  the  other  shouts  that  it  saw  him  only  just  in 


THE   WILD-HORSE   CAMP  325 

time  and  veered,  changing  to  a  streak,  into  some 
bushes.  Loudly  yelped  Phil,  to  accelerate  its  rout. 
Gray  Jack  broke  into  a  lope.  Two  bare  and  riderless 
horses  next  came  galloping,  heads  up,  mane  and  tail 
streaming.  Almost  they  crossed  in  front,  making  up 
the  slope,  before  they  saw.  They  must  be  part  of 
the  wild  bunch  !  Gray  Jack  swerved  of  his  own  ac- 
cord, and  wheeling  with  a  snort  they  dashed  back 
down  again. 

"  Ki  yi  !  " 

Exultantly  yelled  Phil;  exultantly  and  plainer 
sounded  the  yells  of  his  co-partners.  Gray  Jack  loped 
faster.  The  cedars  opened  and  through  the  scattered 
boles  they  recklessly  tacked.  Now  and  beyond,  across 
upon  an  opposite  slope  another  horseman  was  descried 
likewise  riding  hard.  Down  in  the  cup  of  the  draw, 
which  lay  between,  treeless  and  misty,  loose  horses 
were  cantering  wildly.  From  the  center  behind  burst 
Chet  and  Fred  at  full  speed,  driving  before  them  a 
second  squad.  One  animal  therein  was  saddled,  the 
stirrups  dangling  wide.  Hurrah,  then  !  'Twas  Pep- 
per ! 

The  race  was  on.  To  hold  his  flank  even,  Gray 
Jack  fairly  flew.  No  time  was  to  be  given  the  driven 
horses  to  break  back.  So  down  they  tore,  the  riders 
all,  converging,  spurring,  whooping.  Phil  steadied 
himself  (willy-nilly)  by  the  saddle-horn,  and  gripped 
his  best  with  his  thighs.  It  was  his  roughest  ride 
yet.  Now  he  knew  what  "  running  horses  "  in  the 
timber  meant.  Now  he  realized  why  that  allusion  to 
a  damaged  neck  !     But  he  could  not  stop,  if  he  would ; 


326  BAR   B    BOYS 

Gray  Jack  was  sliding,  plowing,  plunging  irresistibly 
onward,  mad  with  the  zest  of  pursuit.  And  he  would 
not  stop  if  he  could,  because  he  must  keep  uo  his  end 
of  the  semicircle. 

They  all  were  upon  the  comparative  level,  clatter- 
ing over  the  rocks,  leaping  bushes,  careering  head- 
long in  the  wake  of  the  fleeing  quarry.  Suddenly 
the  work  had  been  accomplished.  The  whooping 
ceased  and  the  pursuit  pulled  up,  to  watch  as  the  driven 
herd,  with  recoil  and  snort,  seeking  right  and  left 
for  exit,  trotted  along  the  low  bristling  barrier  form- 
ing the  front  of  the  brush  corral. 

"Easy,  boys.  They'll  go  in  when  once  they  get 
started,"  cautioned  the  bearded  man. 

"  There's  Pepper  ! "  called  Chet,  across. 

"  I  see  him,"  answered  Phil. 

"  He's  got  his  saddle  twisted." 

"  Yes,  and  he's  stepped  on  his  6ridle  reins  and 
snapped  'em  short,"  informed  Fred. 

Suspiciously  a  horse  entered  through  the  opening 
which  indicated  the  corral  gate ;  another  did  the  same, 
and  another  followed. 

"  That's  a  maverick,"  announced  the  bearded  man. 
"  There's  that  little  stallion,  too,  Fred,  we've  been 
after  so  long." 

Turned  back  as  they  tried  right  and  left  for  other 
avenue  the  remainder  of  the  horses  entered — Pepper 
jostling  in  with  the  rest.  Immediately  when  there 
was  space  enough  he  received  from  his  nearest  neigh- 
bor a  resounding  kick,  which  he  accepted  meekly,  as 
a  sign  to  keep  away. 


THE   WILD-HORSE   CAMP  327 

"Good  enough  for  you,"  jeered  Phil.  "That's 
what  you  get  for  trying  to  be  a  wild  horse." 

"  All  right,  boys,"  said  the  bearded  man.  He  and 
Fred  dismounted  and  closed  the  opening  with  brush 
which  was  lying  ready. 

"  Pretty  fair  haul,"  he  remarked,  as  all  surveyed 
the  captives  who,  trotting  about  the  enclosure,  nipping 
and  laying  back  ears  as  if  each  blamed  the  others  for 
their  plight,  found  themselves  entrapped. 

There  were  nine,  not  including  Pepper:  seven 
adults  and  two  colts. 

"  Two  broke  back  and  got  away,  up  the  hill,"  quoth 
Fred.     "Couldn't  stop  'em." 

The  sun  of  morning  shone  out,  topping  the  cedars 
banked  against  the  east  and  succeeding  the  milder  glow 
of  dawn. 

"  Want  to  take  your  hawss  now,  boys  ?  "  inquired 
Fred. 

They  thought  that  they  might  as  well. 

"Want  to  get  that  saddle  straightened,  anyhow," 
advised  the  bearded  man.  "  Liable  to  hurt  it  or  him- 
self." 

Pepper  was  roped  and  overhauled.  His  condition 
was  not,  one  would  imagine,  very  comfortable.  The 
saddle  had  been  thrust  sidewise  so  that  it  hung  with 
the  horn  sticking  straight  out  from  his  ribs,  one  stirrup 
thumping  the  ribs  opposite  and  the  other  stirrup  bang- 
ing against  his  fetlocks.  The  cinches  were  wearing 
the  hide  from  his  backbone.  Both  bridle  reins  had 
been  snapped,  and  the  bit  had  torn  his  lips  slightly. 

"  Reckon  if  you'd  take  that  bridle  off  he'd  like  to 


328 


BAR   B    BOYS 


eat.  Can't  chew  well  with  the  bit  in  his  mouth," 
suggested  Fred. 

They  relieved  Pepper  of  his  incumbrances  and  con- 
ducting him  away  picketed  him  near  the  camp.  His 
coat  was  scratched,  his  mane  and  tail  filled  with  twigs 
and  dirt.  In  so  short  a  time  he  had  degenerated. 
And  he  seemed  not  particularly  glad  to  be  recovered. 

The  wild-horse  men  refused  to  take  any  pay  for 
him  or  the  services  that  they  had  rendered;  in  fact, 
they  declared  that  the  account  was  squared  by  the 
help  which  the  two  boys  had  given.  And  after  break- 
fast, with  a  "  So  long,'*  the  visitors  rode  away,  leading 
with  them  the  recreant. 

"  Got  him,  did  you  ? "  congratulated  Mr.  Simms, 
with  a  grim  smile,  as  about  the  middle  of  the  morning 
they  fell  in  again  with  the  cow-herd,  behind  which 
were  leisurely  trailing  the  twain  veterans :  rancher  and 
old-time  puncher.     "  Any  trouble  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  not  much." 

"  Found  him  with  the  wild-hawss  bunch  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  got  him  in  a  surround  this  morning." 

Mr.  Simms  grunted;  Old  Jess  grunted. 

"Looks  kinder  seedy,  don't  he?"  observed  the 
latter. 

The  boys  found  the  roundup  finally  dissolved  down 
to  the  Bar  B  itself.  During  their  absence — brief 
though  that  had  been — the  Lazy  J  had  vanished ;  gone 
to  its  own  range.  Pete  the  cook  had  gone  with  it. 
So  had  Bud  the  wrangler.  Haney  and  Hombre  were 
driving  the  diminished  horse-herd. 

Phil  felt  a  vain  disappointment  that  he  might  not 


THE   WILD-HORSE    CAMP  329 

have  bid  good-by  to  Henry  and  Dick,  the  captious, 
lanky  Pete,  and  the  rest;  even  to  Bud  the  brazen. 
But  Chet  took  the  departure  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  nobody  else  expressed  any  regrets;  so  he  said 
nothing.  Welcome  to  come  and  welcome  to  go,  evi- 
dently was  the  sentiment  in  the  cow  country. 

When  Pepper  had  been  thrown  in  with  the  horse- 
herd  then  it  was  that  Mr.  Simms  produced  an  en- 
velope and  held  it  out  to  Phil. 

"  Here's  a  letter  for  you,  I  reckon,"  he  said. 

A  letter  from  home  ! 

"  Who  brought  the  mail  ?  "  demanded  Chet. 

"  Hombre  rode  in  to  town  last  night  and  brought 
it  back  with  him  this  morning." 

"  They  want  me  to  come  home,"  announced  Phil, 
looking  up  from  the  page.  "  They  think  I'm  getting 
too  well."  He  laughed,  ruefully.  "  I've  told  them 
so  much  about  the  riding  and  how  tough  I  am  that 
they  say  they  think  I'm  well  enough  to  quit  ! " 

"  Oh,  thunder  !  "  protested  Chet.  "  We  were  just 
getting  ready  to  have  some  fun  !" 

"  Coin'  ?  "  queried  Old  Jess,  quietly. 

"  Yes.  I  suppose  I  ought  to.  I  was  out  of  school 
this  spring  and  there's  some  work  I  can  make  up 
before  September  term," 

"  Then  when  do  you  want  to  start  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Simms. 

"  As  soon  as  I  can.  I've  had  a  lot  of  fun,  anyway. 
I'd  better  go." 

"  You  can  come  back  again.  We'll  be  here,  if  those 
rustlers  don't  drive  us  out — and  I  reckon  they  won't; 


330 


BAR   B    BOYS 


or  sheep  either.  Did  you  leave  any  things  at  the 
ranch  ? " 

"A  few." 

"Then  you  and  Chet  might  ride  over  there  and 
get  'em.  It's  your  best  chance ;  right  from  here.  I'm 
going  to  send  in  a  bunch  o'  beef  in  a  day  or  so  to  the 
Junction,  and  you  can  go  along  with  that  and  catch 
your  train  there." 

"We'll  bring  up  the  rifles,"  exclaimed  Chet,  alert. 
"  Maybe  Phil  and  I  can  shoot  a  bear  before  he  leaves." 

Cherry  came  galloping  over  from  the  steer  herd; 
but  they  could  not  delay,  and  with  her  lamentations 
over  the  sudden  change  in  plans  following  them  they 
rode  away  again,  for  the  ranch. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

MORE   RUSTLER   SIGNS ^AND   BEARS 

"  There  she  is,"  announced  Chet,  in  the  advance ;  and 
now  himself  rounding  the  shoulder  of  the  hill  Phil 
saw,  before  and  slightly  below,  the  familiar  Bar  B 
ranch  lying  bathed  in  the  full  sun. 

"  Seems  to  be  all  there,"  he  commented. 

"She  sure  does,"  responded  Chet. 

They  rode  down,  into  the  road,  and  through  the 
lane  entered  among  the  buildings.  The  low,  rud(; 
group,  basking  silent  and  lifeless,  appealed  to  Phil 
as  mutely  reproachful  at  having  been  so  long  de- 
serted. And  yet  really  it  had  not  been  long;  only  a 
few  weeks. 

With  the  air  of  proprietorship,  the  boys  dismounted, 
tied  their  horses  to  the  rail  and  trod  familiar  ground. 

"  Somebody^s  been  here  !  "  exclaimed  Chet,  whose 
eye,  as  usual,  was  the  quicker. 

He  flung  open  the  door  of  the  kitchen  and  followed 
by  Phil,  clumped  in.  They  looked  about  them.  The 
remains  of  a  meal  were  upon  the  table  and  the  shake- 
down bed — what  was  left  of  it — formerly  occupied 
by  Old  Jess,  was  in  tumbled  disorder. 

"  Somebody  spent  a  night  here,"  deduced  Phil ;  a 
remark  which  really  proved  no  particular  keenness, 
the  signs  being  very  evident. 

331 


332  BAR   B    BOYS 

"  No  folks  from  this  country,  or  they'd  have  had 
sense  enough  to  clean  up  after  'em,"  growled  Chet,  dis- 
gustedly. "  Didn't  even  wash  their  dishes.  There 
were  two  of  'em ;  see  ?  " 

Phil  for  the  first  time  noted  the  two  plates,  indi- 
cating the  number  who  had  dined  or  supped. 

"  Tramps,  maybe,"  he  suggested. 

"Don't  have  tramps  away  out  here.  Indians  or 
tourists  did  it,  I  reckon." 

"  Why  didn't  you  lock  the  door  ?  " 

"  Dad  does  lock  the  office  door.  But  nobody  locks 
doors  or  windows  out  in  this  country.  If  people  want 
to  walk  in  that's  all  right;  they  can,  and  help  them- 
selves to  what  they  need,  as  long  as  they  don't  act 
mean.  But  they  ought  to  leave  things  in  as  good 
shape  as  they  found  'em.  There's  too  many  folks 
passing  nowadays,  though.  We'll  have  to  lock  every- 
thing, same  as  you  do  in  cities." 

Grumbling  against  the  inroads  of  civilization  here, 
deep  among  the  mesas,  seventy-five  miles  from  any 
railroad,  Chet,  clumping  out,  sought  beneath  the  office 
door-sill  for  the  key  there.  He  found  it,  and  applying 
it  to  the  lock,  opened  the  door. 

"  Somebody's  been  here,  too,"  he  said,  again  dis- 
gusted. 

For  the  bed  was  as  tumbled  as  the  shake-down; 
not  merely  torn  apart  as  when  it  was  left  after  having 
contributed  to  the  roundup  a  quilt  and  a  blanket. 
Since  then  it  had  been  slept  in. 

Spiked  to  the  table,  beside  the  lamp,  with  a  pin, 
was  a  note  in  pencil: 


MORE    RUSTLER    SIGNS  333 

Charge  on  account.  Will  settle  in  full  when  we 
get  the  girl  back.  Shooting  and  kidnaping  don't 
bluff  us.    Sorry  you  weren't  at  home. 


"  Aw,  gee  ! "  deprecated  Giet.  "  It  was  those  two 
rustlers.  Wish  some  of  us  had  been  here.  Wonder 
if  they  took  anything?  Aw,  won't  dad  be  mad, 
though,  when  he  reads?  They  signed  their  TB  and 
Lazy  Eight." 

Nothing  was  gone.  The  rifles  (most  important) 
were  undisturbed  where  stowed  away  beneath  the 
mattress  (so  as  not  to  over-tempt  the  casual  eye), 
and  not  even  the  clothes  in  the  wardrobe  had  been 
molested. 

The  boys  had  looked  through  bunk-house  and 
blacksmith  shop  without  having  discovered  any  dam- 
age done  there,  when  Phil's  ear  caught  a  hoarse, 
plaintiff  little  mew. 

"  There's  old  Tom  !  "  he  cried.     "  We  forgot  him/' 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  I  heard  him.     Didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Here,  Tom,"  called  Chet. 

They  re-entered  the  blacksmith  shop.  The  mew 
sounded  again,  faint  and  hoarse  and  appealing. 

"  He's  in  his  nest  up  under  the  roof,"  declared 
Chet.     "  Come  on  outside." 

"Here,  Tom,"  called  Phil. 

"  It's  up  in  that  corner,  somewhere,"  informed  Chet ; 
and  standing  under  the  place  they  both  called. 


334  BAR   B    BOYS 

There  was  a  tremendous  scratching  about,  above, 
and  presently  Tom's  round  face  peered  out,  from 
amidst  the  eaves,  inquiringly. 

"Come  along  down.  What's  the  matter  with 
yuh  ! "   scolded  Chet. 

Tom  yowled  querulously,  and  projecting  farther, 
with  movement  stiff  and  slow,  began  to  descend. 

"  He's  been  hurt  !  "  ejaculated  Phil. 

At  that  moment  Tom's  hold  loosened  and  down  he 
came  with  a  thud,  immediately  to  gather  himself  and 
stagger  to  the  boys'  legs,  where  he  rubbed  and  rau- 
cously, rapturously  purred. 

"Yes,  sir;  he's  been  shot  !  That's  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  him,"  exclaimed  Chet. 

They  examined.  A  ragged  gash  (now  partially 
healed)  had  been  torn  through  the  fatty  portion  of 
his  back,  over  the  hind  quarters.  The  ball  must  nar- 
rowly have  missed  his  spine. 

"  Yes,  sir;  somebody's  shot  him  !" 

"  Who  do  you  suppose  could  have  done  that  ?  " 

"  Poor  Tom  !     Poor  old  Tom  ! " 

They  petted  him.  And  poor  he  was,  indeed ;  gaunt 
with  fasting  and  fever,  but  evidently  upon  the  road 
to  recovery. 

"  It  wasn't  any  soft-nose  bullet,"  declared  Chet. 
"  That  would  have  ripped  the  whole  end  off  of 
him.  The  lame  man  shot  him  with  the  revolver. 
That's  what ;  just  for  meanness  ! " 

The  boys  growled  their  indignation.  Tom,  over- 
joyed at  having  sympathy  and  friends  again,  would 
have  crawled  up  into  their  laps  as  they  crouched  down 
by  him. 


MORE    RUSTLER   SIGNS  335 

"  Poor  Tom.  He  waited  until  he  recognized  our 
voices,  you  bet." 

Tom  hobbled  after  them,  with  movement  like  a 
rabbit,  as  they  searched  here  and  there.  They  found 
no  further  instances  of  viciousness  on  the  part  of  the 
vandal  visitors. 

They  watered  their  horses  at  the  creek  (it  had  fallen 
perceptibly),  Tom  sticking  close  down  and  back,  and 
turned  them  loose  to  munch  upon  hay  in  the  corral. 
Phil's  few  things  at  the  ranch  were  collected,  the  rifles 
— Chet's  and  his  father's — and  the  cartridges  were 
laid  out;  and  these  details  having  been  attended  to, 
there  was  little  then  to  do  but  to  loaf  about,  petting 
Tom,  and  awaiting  sunset  and  supper-time. 

Chet  did  the  bulk  of  the  cooking;  to  cook  was  a 
range  accomplishment  not  yet  acquired  by  Phil;  but 
Chet  could  "build"  as  good  bread  (biscuit)  as  could 
Old  Jess  or  Pete.  With  bread,  bacon,  fried  potatoes 
and  coffee  the  boys  fared  liberally — Tom  dividing  his 
time  between  the  table  and  the  hot  stove. 

He  certainly  was  glad  to  have  the  opportunity. 

"  We've  got  to  take  him  up  to  camp  with  us," 
decided  Chet.  "  Can*t  leave  him  here,  in  that 
shape." 

"  I  should  say  not.  He's  liable  to  starve  to  death,'* 
agreed  Phil. 

"  He  might  pull  through.  But  he's  pretty  stiff  and 
wobbly."  Chet  surveyed  him  judicially.  "  We'd  bet- 
ter take  him.  If  we  don't,  like  as  not  dad'll  send  down 
for  him.  Dad  thinks  more  of  that  cat  than  he  does 
of  his  best  hawss." 

"  How'll  we  carry  him  ? " 


336  BAR   B    BOYS 

"Oh,  put  him  in  a  box  or  sack.  I'll  carry  him, 
myself/' 

"  Wish  those  rustlers  would  turn  up  here  to-night, 
again,"  voiced  Chet,  after  their  dishes  were  all  washed. 
Perhaps  the  extra  accumulation  aided  in  stirring 
his  wrath.     "  We'd  give  'em  what  they  gave  Tom." 

"  That's  right,"  concurred  Phil,  boldly. 

But  although  sleeping  together  upon  the  office  bed, 
each  with  an  ear  hopefully  open  and  both  with  a 
knowledge  that  the  three  rifles  were  at  hand  ready 
for  action,  they  passed  a  peaceful  night.  And  so  did 
Tom,  luxurious  behind  the  kitchen  stove. 

It  really  was  a  question  whether  in  his  stiffened 
condition  he  could  regain  his  nest  in  the  blacksmith 
shop  roof,  and  whether  once  there  he  might  not  be 
too  weak  to  get  out  again  to  forage. 

So  they  tucked  him  into  a  large  peach-basket  which 
they  were  lucky  enough  to  find,  tied  a  piece  of  sack- 
ing over  it,  and  fairly  well  laden — Phil  sitting  between 
two  of  the  rifles,  his  possessions  fastened  to  the  saddle, 
behind — Chet  carrying  Tom  and  basket — after  break- 
fast they  set  out. 

Once  more  the  Bar  B  ranch  was  left  to  itself  and 
to  casual  guests ;  this  time  even  the  cat  had  deserted ! 

The  boys  jogged  on,  retracing  their  route  of  the 
day  before.  Tom,  confined  in  the  basket  resting  upon 
the  saddle  and  against  Qiet's  stomach,  emitted  an 
occasional  melancholy  yowl  as  the  motion  of  the  horse 
slightly  racked  him. 

They  had  been  traveling  for  about  two  hours,  when 
Chet  suddenly  declared: 


I 


MORE    RUSTLER   SIGNS  337 

"There's  a  bear!" 

"Where?"  Phil  was  startled. 

"  On  the  side  of  the  hill,  across  this  gulch." 

Phil  searched. 

"Big  one?" 

"No.     Little  one.     See  it?" 

"It's  a  badger,  isn't  it?" 

"  No.  It's  a  bear,  only  half  grown.  Let's  go 
over." 

Chet  turned  Thunder  down  off  the  ridge.  Phil 
followed — but  dubiously. 

"  Supposing  its  mother  is  around,"  he  ventured. 

"  Aw,  we  can  get  away.  She  wouldn't  chase  us 
and  leave  her  cub.  But  I  don't  believe  she's  very 
near.     He's  big  enough  to  take  care  of  himself." 

As  they  rode  up  that  opposite  slope  the  bear  (a  fat, 
dumpling  chap,  half-grown  as  Chet  had  claimed  and 
much  larger  than  any  badger)  who  had  been  busily 
engaged  in  rooting  and  pawing  among  the  rocks  and 
grass  tufts,  sensed  their  approach.  He  sat  up  on  his 
hams  like  a  begging  dog,  and  gazed.  Gray  Jack 
snorted ;  so  did  Thunder.  With  pricked  ears  and  star- 
ing eyes  they  advanced  only  under  protest. 

Phil  had  nervously  drawn  his  carbine  from  its 
sheath. 

"Shall  I  shoot?"  he  asked. 

"  Naw !  "  rebuked  Chet,  the  cowboy  in  him  upper- 
most. "We'll  rope  him  and  take  him  to  camp. 
We'll  have  him  for  a  pet.     Don't  you  shoot." 

The  bear,  ludicrously  sitting  erect  and  with  very 
babyish  motions  waving  its  two  paws  at  them,  was  so 


338  BAR   B    BOYS 

utterly  inoffensive  and  juvenile  and  roly-poly  that  Phil 
scarcely  would  have  had  the  heart  to  shoot,  anyway. 

"  He's  a  young  brown  bear,"  averred  Chet.  "  Here ; 
you  take  Tom.  I'll  rope  him.  I'm  not  afraid. 
Then  you  can  drive  him  and  I'll  lead,  and  we'll  fetch 
him  in  and  show  him  to  Haney.  Haney  roped  a 
bigger  bear  than  this,  once.  A  full-grown  one,  too, 
almost." 

Nothing  loth  Phil  slipped  the  carbine  back  into  its 
scabbard  and  took  Tom  and  basket.  The  horses 
were  dancing  so,  that  the  transfer  was  not  easy 
("  Whoa-oa,  Jack!  "  "What's  the  matter  with  yuh, 
Thunder!"),  but  it  finally  was  consummated.  Tom 
mechanically  yowled. 

The  cub  had  been  interested  watching  proceedings; 
pivoted  there  upon  his  haunches,  with  solemn  but  also 
quizzical  expression,  following  by  twisting  his  head 
the  gyrations  of  the  horses. 

Rope  down,  Chet  circled  about,  forcing  the  unwill- 
ing Thunder  nearer. 

"  Hurry  up,"  urged  Phil.  "  Or  else  the  old  one 
will  be  coming!  " 

"  Want  to  get  it  over  neck  and  front  leg.  Then 
it  won't  choke  him  and  it  won't  slip  back,  either," 
claimed  Chet,  cheerfully.  "  Go  on  up  there.  Thunder. 
What's  the  matter  with  yuh !  " 

Under  the  repeated  spurring  Thunder  in  his  cir- 
clings  sidled  a  little  closer;  and  from  above  the  bear 
Chet  prepared  to  cast. 

"  Don't  let  him  run  down  past  you,"  he  called. 

"  I  won't,"  bravely  responded  Phil ;  although,  handi- 


MORE    RUSTLER   SIGNS  339 

capped  by  Tom's  basket  and  by  Gray  Jack's  continuous 
performance  of  side-stepping  and  plunging,  he  hardly 
was  capable  of  attending  to  runaway  bears. 

"I  got  him!"  announced  Chet.  "Oh,  the 
dickens !  " 

His  noose  had  fallen  over  the  cub's  head  and  both 
shoulders  too;  for  as  it  flipped  down  upon  him  the 
youngster  had  thrown  up  his  two  paws  like  a  boy 
warding  off  a  blow — and  had  stuck  them  both 
through. 

Chet  sharply  tightened  the  rope,  toppling  the  cub  to 
all  fours.  At  the  sensation  of  the  tether  around  his 
body  the  animal  deliberately  turned  upon  his  back  and 
with  his  paws  around  the  rope  tried  to  draw  it  into  his 
mouth.  His  action  was  so  babyish  and  so  monkey- 
like as  well  that  both  boys  laughed. 

"Get  up!"  bade  Chet. 

"  You'll  have  to  bring  him  along  on  his  back." 

"That'll  take  all  the  hair  off,"  Chet  objected. 
"  Get  up  on  your  feet,  you !  Ride  closer  to  him,  Phil, 
and  scare  him ;  can't  you  ?  " 

But  Phil  succeeded  very  poorly.  Chet  started  to 
apply  compulsion,  and  moving  ahead,  rope  taut,  hauled 
the  cub  a  few  yards;  skidding  it.  The  cub  squealed, 
in  piggy  fashion,  thus  protesting  vigorously,  still  on 
his  back,  feet  in  the  air. 

Chet  halted ;  and  Phil,  behind,  halted.  Other  ways 
and  means  must  be  considered. 

"Aw,  gee!  I  wish  he'd  get  up,"  deplored  Chet 
"  Quit  your  yelling,  you  baby,  yuh ! "  he  scolded, 
"  Nobody's  hurting  yuh  I  " 


340  BAR   B    BOYS 

Phil's  heart  suddenly  seemed  to  skip  a  beat,  taking 
his  breath ;  then  it  popped  into  his  throat. 

"  Chet !  Chet !  "  he  cried,  at  the  sound  of  a  guttural 
roar.     "  The  old  bear's  coming ! " 

"  Look  out !  There  she  is !  "  And  Chefs  voice 
rang  excitedly. 

Incidents  now  occurred  with  great  rapidity.  At  the 
message  of  the  old  bear's  roar  the  cub,  taking  on  a  new 
lease  of  life,  whipped  to  his  feet,  and  sprawling  and 
floundering  tugged  madly,  the  while  mingling  squeals 
and  whimpers.  Up  the  hill  bowled  a  bear  as  big  as  a 
buffalo  (Phil  thought),  its  every  jump  a  thunderous, 
snarling  growl.  The  horses  threw  high  their  heads, 
trembling  and  snorting  and  glaring,  on  the  verge  of 
a  bolt. 

"Shoot  her!  Shoot!  Shoot!"  appealed  Chet, 
frantically.  "  I  can't  get  loose !  I  can't  get  my  gun 
loose,  either ! " 

The  lash  end  of  his  rope  had  jammed  about  the 
horn,  and  the  straining  and  plunging  of  Thunder,  who 
was  quite  unmanageable,  was  holding  the  rifle  stock 
between  rope  and  saddle,  as  in  a  vise. 

Phil  endeavored,  one-handed  (he  had  Tom  in  that 
pesky  basket  to  retain  before  him)  to  draw  one  of  his 
rifles.  Gray  Jack,  with  a  leap,  almost  unseated  him 
in  the  act.  The  basket  tilted  and  Tom  was  in  dire 
peril  of  being  dumped. 

"Shoot!  Why  don't  you  shoot?"  implored  Chet, 
angrily. 

"  How  can  I?    I  can't!  "  retorted  Phil.     "  I " 

Gray  Jack  executed  a  grand  demi-volte.     Betwixt 


MORE    RUSTLER   SIGNS  341 

his  two  guns  Phil  clutched  Tom's  basket  desperately 
and  hung  to  the  saddle  with  knees  and  hand. 
Thunder,  braced,  half  turned,  was  shrinking  and  pull- 
ing, and  Chet's  spurs  had  no  effect  to  move  him  nor 
release  the  tension  on  the  rope. 

With  a  rush  and  a  roar  the  old  bear  arrived.  Gray 
Jack  wheeled,  but  by  main  force  Phil  wheeled  him 
back  again.     Chet  must  not  be  abandoned. 

"Oh,  gee!"  wailed  Chet.     "I  can't  get  loose." 

His  face  was  crimson.  Phil  felt  that  his  own  must 
be  very  white. 

The  old  bear  (she  was  a  monster,  light  brown  and 
burly,  bristles  standing  in  a  clump  between  her 
shoulders,  small  eyes  sparking  green,  white  fangs  all 
exposed)  stopped  beside  her  cub,  below  the  horses. 
She  nosed  it  eagerly,  and  pawed  it  toward  her.  She 
paused  to  glare  up  at  the  two  boys  and  snarl  defiance. 
She  grasped  the  cub  again,  to  draw  it  in  to  her,  but 
anchored  by  the  rope  it  stuck  fast,  struggling  fruit- 
lessly and  still  whimpering.  This  sticking  fast  seemed 
to  puzzle  her.  She  lifted  it  completely  off  the  ground, 
with  her  stout  forearms. 

The  rope  caught  her  attention;  and  with  a  snarl 
renewed  she  grabbed  it,  tugging  at  it  with  her  teeth 
like  a  bull-dog.  Irritably  she  battled  it;  and  astride 
of  it,  her  cub  beneath  her  body,  she  tugged  and 
worried. 

Phil  had  been  spasmodically  working  to  disengage 
a  hand  and  a  rifle  at  the  same  time — yet  hold  Gray 
Jack  to  the  vicinity  and  not  drop  Tom,  No,  not  drop 
Tom,  at  all  hazards !     Chet  could  only  sit  and  wrestle 


342  BAR   B    BOYS 

to  release  himself  and  Thunder  from  their  end  of 
the  rope!     But  now  his  voice  wailed  out  agonizedly: 

"  She's  pulling  us  in !  Help !  Phil !  Throw  a 
rope  on  me !     She's  pulling  us  in !  " 

Thunder  was  sliding  down  the  hill!  The  weight 
and  the  strength  of  the  old  bear  as  she  hauled  and 
worried  were  bringing  horse  and  rider  right  on  top  of 
her!  Furiously  Chet  spurred.  But  the  footing  was 
loose  gravel.  And  Thunder,  half  paralyzed,  yielded 
inch  by  inch. 

"  Help,  can't  yuh !  "  besought  Chet.  "  Throw  me 
your  rope."  His  voice  broke.  "  Going  to  let  me  be 
eaten  alive?     Can't  you  shoot,  or  anything f" 

Phil  certainly  was  anxious  to  do  something;  but  he 
was  embarrassed  by  a  multiplicity  of  duties;  to  hold 
Tom,  to  rein  Gray  Jack,  to  abstract  a  rifle,  to  pluck 
free  his  rope  coil,  to  retain  his  seat.  At  this  crisis, 
when  Chet  seemed  doomed  to  be  "  eaten  alive," 
Thunder  pitched  forward  almost  upon  his  nose.  Un- 
der the  teeth  of  the  old  bear  the  uniting  and  binding 
rope  had  parted. 

With  a  glad  snort  Thunder,  his  paralysis  snapped 
like  the  rope,  lunged  in  flight.  Chet  as  gladly  en- 
couraged. Upon  Gray  Jack,  Phil,  also  glad,  followed. 
Obliquely  ascending  the  slope  they  raced,  bending  for- 
ward, urging  their  horses,  until  at  the  top  they  dared 
to  look  behind. 

The  old  bear  was  staring  after,  but  she  had  not 
pursued.  She  fell  to  nuzzling  her  cub,  which  stand- 
ing, shook  itself  roundly.  Both  started  back,  down 
the  hill,  at  a  lumbering  lope,  the  rope  trailing  after. 


SHE'S  PULLING  US  IN!   THROW  A  ROPE  ON  ME!' 


MORE    RUSTLER   SIGNS  343 

Chet  jerked  his  rifle  loose  and  pumped  away  at 
them. 

"Darn  yuh!"  he  said. 

But  Thunder,  dancing,  spoiled  his  aim.  Two  of 
the  bullets  raised  puffs  of  dust  just  beyond  the  bears; 
the  other  three  were  not  marked  at  all. 

"  Aw,  shucks !  "     And  Chet  ceased  firing. 

"  Shall  we  go  after  them  ?  "  proposed  Phil ;  hoping 
not,  but  resolved  to  be  game. 

"  No.  What's  the  use  ?  These  hawsses  are  too 
scared." 

Mother  bear  and  cub  had  disappeared  in  the  brush 
at  the  bottom  of  the  gulch. 

"  They  took  my  rope,  most  of  it,''  complained  Chet 
— actually  for  the  moment  unmindful  of  the  fact  that 
they  did  not  take  him,  too.  "  This  hawss  was  so 
scared  he  couldn't  pull.  He  couldn't  get  any  pur- 
chase, up  hill  on  that  gravel.  And  that  bear  was 
strong.  She's  a  cinnamon.  Got  me  all  twisted  up. 
Couldn't  use  my  rifle,  or  cast  off  my  rope,  or  tumble 
off,  myself,  or  nothing!" 

"  Look  at  Tom." 

They  laughed.  Through  an  opening  in  the  sack- 
ing over  the  basket  stuck  Tom's  round,  owlish  visage, 
wide-eyed  surveying  the  world. 

"  He's  wondering  what's  happened." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  can  smell  bear,  like  a  horse  ?  " 

"  He  would  if  you'd  dropped  him!  " 

"  I  was  all  tangled  up,  too,"  said  Phil.  "  First  you 
wanted  me  to  shoot,  and  then  you  wanted  me  to  pass 
you  my  rope,  and  all  the  time  I  was  trying  not  to 


344  BAR   B    BOYS 

dump  Tom,  and  to  keep  Gray  Jack  from  running 
away,  and  I  couldn't  get  a  gun  loose  or  take  down  my 
rope,  either." 

**  That  sure  was  a  mix-up,"  admitted  Chet,  gravely. 
"I  thought  I  was  bear-meat — and  I  guess  Thunder 
thought  he  was.  I'd  like  to  have  brought  that  cub 
into  camp,  though.     He  was  a  dandy." 

Even  by  the  time  that  they  reached  camp  the  horses 
had  not  quieted;  during  all  the  remainder  of  the 
route  they  showed  a  disposition  to  shy,  at  intervals,  to 
snort  frequently  and  to  travel  fast. 

The  summer  camp  was  just  being  settled  when  the 
boys  rode  in.     Mr.  Simms  eyed  the  basket. 

"  What  you  got  there  ?  "  he  asked. 

With  a  lugubrious  howl  Tom  responded,  announc- 
ing himself. 

"  Same  oV  voice.  Sounds  familiar  laik,"  com- 
mented Haney,  lolling  near.     "  Howdy,  Tom  ?  " 

"  What'd  you  bring  that  cat  for  ?  "  demanded  Mr. 
Simms. 

"  Is  it  a  real  cat  ? "  cried  Cherry,  flying  to  the 
scene.     "  Oh,  the  poor  thing ! " 

"  He's  some  bunged  up,  ain't  he,  Miss,"  agreed 
Buster. 

While  Tom  hobbled  from  friend  to  friend  they  all 
listened  to  the  boys'  story  of  the  discoveries  at  the 
ranch. 

"  Never  washed  up  the  dishes !  Think  o'  that,  will 
yu!"  gasped  Buster,  scandalized. 

"  An'  slep'  in  the  bawss's  baid ! "  added  Haney. 

"  And  shot  the  cat !  "  further  added  Cherry. 


MORE    RUSTLER   SIGNS  345 

Mr.  Simms  folded  the  note  and  tucked  it  into  his 
vest  pocket. 

"  Well  written.  Fetched  my  gun,  too,  did  you, 
Chet?  All  right,"  he  said,  simply.  But  his  face,  as 
he  stooped  to  stroke  the  hoarsely  purring,  very  happy 
Tom,  had  the  same  grim,  hawklike  expression  of  that 
time  when,  upon  the  hilltop,  kneeling,  rifle  at  a  ready, 
with  bleeding  shoulder  he  waited  for  the  rustlers  to 
emerge  into  the  open,  below. 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence ;  then  the  tenseness 
was  relieved  by  the  boys'  tale  (to  Haney's  infinite  de- 
light) of  the  bear  "  mix-up." 

"  Whoopee ! "  cheered  Haney,  fairly  rolling  and 
kicking  up  his  heels.  "  Smith-Jones  held  on  to  the 
cat!  That's  right,  Smith-Jones.  Bear  can  eat  Chet 
but  she  cain't  eat  ol'  Tom." 

''  Those  big  bears  can  shore  pull,"  declared  Buster, 
solemnly.  "  I  heard  o*  one  once — a  grizzly  he  was — 
that  did  pull  a  hawss  right  in  to  him,  hand  over  hand, 
only  he  got  shot  up  first." 

"  Bears  laik  to  go  fishin'  an'  ketch  a  hawss  an'  boy, 
I  hear  tell,"  averred  Haney.  "  Reckon  that  ol'  she- 
bear  had  jes'  left  her  baby  out  there  for  bait !  " 

"How  ridiculous!"  scoffed  Cherry.  "But  I'm 
glad  they  got  away." 

"Which?     Bear  or  boy?"  quizzed  Mr.  Simms. 

"  Both." 

As  evening  came,  and  Buster  prepared  supper,  Phil 
finally  asked : 

"Where's  Old  Jess,  and  the  rest?" 

"Jess  and  Ford  have  taken  the  steer-herd  to  the 


346 


BAR   B    BOYS 


other  side  the  mountain.  That's  the  steer  range,  over 
there.  Hombre's  gone  along  with  the  horse-herd," 
explained  Mr.  Simms. 

"Won't  I  see  them  again,  before  I  leave,  then?" 
Phil  was  somewhat  dismayed.  The  company  was  be- 
ing cut  more  and  more. 

But  the  cattleman  reassured  him. 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  you  would.  That's  where 
we  start  with  the  bunch  you  take  along  into  the  Junc- 
tion with  you." 

"Oh!"  said  Phil.     "Soon?" 

"Well,  pretty  soon." 

"  Cain't  spare  Smith-Jones  till  we  get  those  rustlers 
run  out,"  chipped  in  Haney.  "  They're  scaired  o' 
him/' 

"  Shore,"  agreed  Buster,  solemnly. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

SOMETHING   HAPPENS   TO  CHERRY 

The  summer  camp  was  a  log  cabin  and  a  couple  of 
tents  among  the  spruce  and  pines  at  the  head  of  a 
little  valley  of  the  high  country.  On  this,  the  Bar  B 
summer  range,  the  grass  was  long  and  uncropped, 
save  by  deer  and  elk,  throughout  the  spring,  waiting 
for  the  cattle,  and  the  flies  were  not  so  bad  as  lower. 
Nor  did  the  water  fail  as  soon.  The  cattle  would  be 
kept  here  until  late  in  the  fall,  when  with  the  last  beef 
drive  they  would  be  drifted  over  to  the  winter  range. 
Then  the  summer  range  would  be  given  its  rest,  in 
turn. 

The  change  from  the  sage  and  cedars  and  gravelly 
slopes  to  the  spruce  and  pines  and  parks  of  spangled 
grasses  was  a  distinct  relief.  The  boys  spread  their 
beds  under  the  trees,  and  slept  there  rather  than  oc- 
cupy tent  or  cabin.  The  mattress  of  the  dried  needles 
was  soft  and  fragrant. 

Down  through  the  valley  ran  a  small  brook.  This 
was  the  same  Owl  Creek  which  passed  the  Bar  B 
ranch,  thirty  miles  north,  and  below.  But  the  Owl 
Creek  in  these  its  beginnings  was  not  the  stream  of 
that  lower  country ;  muddy,  yellow.  It  was  clear  and 
cold  and  sparkling,  and  swarming  with  mountain  trout 
about  the  length  of  one's  hand;  easily  caught  with 
hook  and  line,  a  willow  pole  and  a  grasshopper. 

347 


348  BAR   B    BOYS 

Yes,  a  cool,  green,  shaded,  well-watered,  very 
pleasant  country  it  was  for  cattle  and  for  men.  And 
Phil  would  have  liked  to  spend  the  summer  here. 
There  were  many  rides  to  take,  through  the  mysteri- 
ous timbered  vales;  there  were  bear  (if  one  really 
7mnted  bear)  and  later  in  the  season  there  would  be 
deer-hunting.  Fishing  was  good.  All  in  all  the  sum- 
mer camp  was  a  vacation. 

Of  course  the  cattle  must  still  be  looked  after. 
They  must  be  ridden  through  and  ridden  around,  so 
that  tab  should  be  kept  upon  their  whereabouts  and 
so  that  calves  should  be  branded.  But  it  was  more 
of  an  easy,  unhurried  riding,  for  the  cattle  were  wax- 
ing lazy  and  the  calves  were  fewer. 

However,  Phil's  time  on  the  Bar  B  summer  range 
was  limited.  Home  was  calling  him.  And  while 
Mr.  Simms'  "  pretty  soon  "  in  reference  to  taking  out 
that  first  bunch  of  beef  was  rather  indefinite,  yet  'twas 
bound  to  come. 

Now,  upon  this  the  third  morning  after  their — 
Phil's  and  Chet's — arrival  at  the  summer  camp  the 
two  boys  and  Cherry,  riding  out  together,  separated 
where  upon  the  brink  of  a  sunny,  grassy  park  stood 
a  magnificent  yellow  pine.  Cherry  stopped.  The 
pine  and  the  neighboring  trees  were  rife  with  the 
dark -gray  pine-squirrel;  the  flowers  of  the  park  ex- 
tended clear  amidst  the  serried  timber;  the  shafts  of 
the  sun  penetrated  among  the  boles;  the  air  was 
scented  with  the  warm  balsam  oozing  from  wood  and 
needles;  Mistress  Cherry  decided  that  she  would  ride 
no  further.  And  with  Cherry  decision  was  the  act 
itself. 


SOMETHING   HAPPENS   TO    CHERRY      349 

So  she  dismounted,  to  sit  and  amuse  herself  while 
the  boys  proceeded  upon  their  original  purpose  of  re- 
connoitering  this,  the  northwest  corner  of  the  range. 
They  would  pick  up  Cherry  on  their  return,  soon. 

"  You  ride  around  one  way  and  I'll  ride  the  other," 
directed  Chet. 

So  they,  also,  separated,  at  the  opposite  edge  of  the 
park.  Phil's  course  led  to  the  right,  down  into  a  long 
gulch  which,  brushy  and  shaded,  curved  away  like  a 
thoroughfare  grown  to  weeds.  He  followed  this, 
Medicine  Eye  treading  springily  and  noiselessly  a  soft, 
narrow  cattle-trail. 

Ahead  some  old  cow  was  bellowing  ceaselessly,  as  if 
she  was  in  distress  mental  or  physical.  She  may 
either  have  hung  herself  up  some  way  in  the  brush,  or 
simply  have  lost  her  calf.  At  any  rate,  he  and  Medi- 
cine Eye  would  presently  see,  for  evidently  they  were 
nearing  the  center  of  disturbance.  More  distinct 
swelled  the  bellowing ;  Medicine  Eye  pricked  his  ears ; 
and  suddenly  rounding  a  little  turn  of  the  path,  here 
where  the  brush  opened  somewhat,  Phil  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  four  mounted  Indians.  The  second 
in  line  was  hauling  along  with  a  rope  the  bellowing 
cow. 

Startled,  Phil  stared  hard.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  recognized  the  foremost  Indian.  The  suit  of  buck- 
skin w^as  missing,  but  the  face  looked  familiar.  He 
was  Charley,  Chief  Billy's  son — wasn't  he? 

"How,"  said  Phil,  with  laconic  Western  greeting, 
as  involuntarily  he  drew  aside  to  let  the  short  caval- 
cade pass. 

The  leading  Indian  who  might  have  been  Charley 


350  BAR   B    BOYS 

barely  grunted,  in  response;  the  next  Indian  did  not 
even  glance;  and  the  others  (young  bucks  all  were 
the  four)  likewise  rode  with  non-committal  mien,  gaz- 
ing straight  to  the  front. 

But  this  was  lost  upon  Phil,  for  violently  wheeling 
Medicine  Eye  he  dashed  almost  at  a  bound  to  block 
the  further  progress  of  the  file. 

"  Here !  What  are  you  doing  with  that  Bar  B 
cow  ?  "  he  demanded,  impetuously. 

The  foremost  Indian,  whom  he  addressed,  surveyed 
him  out  of  dark  visage  wooden,  emotionless. 

"  No  savvy." 

"  You're  Charley,  aren't  you  ?  "  experimented  Phil, 
ingratiating. 

"  Uh.     No  savvy." 

"  Isn't  his  name  Charley?  "  appealed  Phil,  down  the 
line. 

The  three  faces  made  no  answering  sign.  Phil,  a 
bit  nonplussed,  sturdily  resumed. 

"Well,  you've  got  a  Bar  B  cow,  anyway,"  he  ac- 
cused.    "What  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"  No  savvy,"  reiterated  the  leader  who  so  resembled 
Charley.  "  No  savvy."  He  waved  his  hand  im- 
patiently for  Phil  to  clear  the  path  again. 

But  Phil,  with  Medicine  Eye  held  broadside,  did 
not  budge. 

"  No,"  he  refused.  "  You've  no  right  to  that  cow." 
He  pointed.  "  No  wueno.  Cow,  no  wueno."  He 
tapped  his  chest.  "My  cow.  No  yours.  Bar  B." 
And  he  drew  with  his  finger  a  Bar  B  in  the  air. 
"Let  go." 


SOMETHING   HAPPENS   TO    CHERRY      351 

Having  exhausted  his  stock  of  Mexican-Spanish, 
elementary  English  and  sign-language  he  paused, 
hopeful  that  they  had  interpreted. 

The  two  middle  Indians  laughed,  exchanging  a 
comment  in  guttural  tongue.  The  laugh  had  some- 
thing supercilious  and  covert  in  it,  as  if  making  light 
of  him.  Phil's  cheek  burned.  The  carbine  under  his 
leg  gave  him  boldness — but  he  judged  that  he  had 
better  not  draw  it  save  as  a  last  resort ;  and  even  then 
the  odds  would  be  against  him.  Each  Indian,  also, 
had  a  rifle.  So  he  tried  to  swallow  his  wrath.  The 
cow  gazed  up  at  him  and  lowed  mournfully,  as  if  rec- 
ognizing in  him  her  rightful  guardian  from  whom  she 
expected  protection. 

The  rearmost  of  the  Indians  came  on  the  trot 
around  into  the  van.  He  jostled  Phil  fiercely,  assail- 
ing him  with  a  string  of  grunted  language,  essaying 
at  the  same  time  to  crowd  him  to  one  side. 

"  Puk-a-chee ! "  he  scowled,  out  of  avid,  pock- 
marked, angry  countenance.  "  Puk-a-chee !  Va- 
mose !  "     He  was  a  very  ugly  Indian. 

"  Puk-a-chee  yourself,"  retorted  Phil.  "  Cow,  no 
wueno;  no  good.     Bar  B  cow.     My  cow.'* 

An  ominous  guttural  murmur  ran  down  the  short 
line.  It  crowded  forward.  The  pock-marked  Indian 
gestured  Phil  aside  imperiously.  Objecting  to  being 
jostled  Medicine  Eye  laid  back  his  ears,  but  stood  his 
ground ;  Phil,  also  exasperated,  put  his  hand  upon  the 
stock  of  his  carbine. 

"Better  not,*'  cautioned  the  Charley-appearing  In- 
dian, curtly. 


352  BAR   B    BOYS 

Phil  was  astounded. 

^'  You  do  speak  English,  then !  " 

A  smile  flitted  across  the  Indian's  face,  momentarily 
disclosing  perfect  teeth;  and  vanished,  leaving  that 
face  as  stolid  as  before.     But  now  Phil  was  positive. 

"  And  you're  Charley,  too,"  he  declared.  "  You're 
the  man  who  gave  me  this.     Remember?" 

Bethinking  himself  he  extracted  from  his  pocket  the 
little  beaded  buckskin  sack  which  he  had  been  carry- 
ing all  this  time,  and  passed  it  over. 

The  effect  was  magical.  The  greasy  sack,  after 
cursory  examination  by  the  first  Indian,  traveled  from 
hand  to  hand  amid  grunted  comment.  Fingers  traced 
the  bead  design,  as  if  emphasizing.  Heads  nodded. 
Phil  found  the  hostile  atmosphere  changed  to  one  of 
respect  and  almost  friendliness.  The  grasp  upon 
rifles  was  relaxed.  And  all  because,  as  seemed  to 
him,  of  the  bead  pattern. 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  I  knew  you  all  the  time. 
How  do  do,"  said  Charley — for  Charley  it  was — re- 
turning the  sack,  and  now  smiling  widely  extending 
his  hand  to  shake. 

The  three  other  Indians  shook  Phil's  hand. 

"  How,  how,"  they  grunted. 

"  Is  this  your  cow  ?  "  asked  Charley. 

"  She  belongs  to  the  Bar  B,  the  outfit  I'm  riding 
for,"  asserted  Phil,  stoutly.  "  That's  why  I  had  to 
interfere." 

"  All  right." 

Charley  spoke  a  few  words  in  Ute  to  his  compan- 
ions.    One  of  them  cast  off  the  rope  from  about  the 


SOMETHING   HAPPENS   TO    CHERRY      353 

animal's  horns.  With  a  toss  of  her  head  she  walked 
away  into  the  brush. 

The  pock-marked  Indian  asked  a  question. 

"  He  wants  to  know  if  that  other  man  we  saw  is  a 
companion  of  yours,"  translated  Charley. 

"  Who  ?     A  boy,  kind  of  short,  with  freckled  face 

and  blue  eyes?     The  same  boy "     Phil  stopped. 

Maybe  reference  to  that  first  encounter,  when  the  cow- 
boys and  the  Indians  clashed  and  the  pistol  was  held 
against  Chief  Billy's  stomach,  might  not  be  agreeable. 

"  No.  This  was  a  man  with  one  eye,  on  a  light  bay 
horse  with  two  white  feet.'* 

"  Oh !  "  Poignant  alarm  swept  through  Phil,  as  he 
recalled  Cherry  alone  up  there  among  the  timber  on 
the  edge  of  the  park.  "  Thunder !  "  he  muttered. 
"  I've  got  to  go,"  and  he  turned  Medicine  Eye. 

"Where  you  going?" 

"  Back  again.     I  left  somebody,  who's  waiting." 

"  I'll  ride  with  you,"  volunteered  Charley,  with  his 
friendly  smile.  He  dropped  a  brief  word  of  Ute  to 
his  comrades;  and  starting  his  horse  fell  in  beside  of 
Phil.  The  three  other  Indians  stayed  behind,  on  the 
trail. 

Worried  and  full  of  fears,  Phil  urged  Medicine  Eye 
into  a  brisk  trot.  He  did  not  know  how  much  he 
ought  to  tell  Charley,  and  so  decided  to  tell  him  noth- 
ing.    But  he  asked : 

"  That  man  was  alone,  was  he  ?  '* 

"Whatman?" 

"  The  man  with  the  one  eye." 

"  Yes." 


354  BAR   B    BOYS 

"Far  back?" 

"  Pretty  far." 

Phil  felt  a  bit  reassured.  And  yet  he  would  have 
preferred  that  there  had  been  two  men,  together. 

"Where's  your  buckskin  suit,  Charley?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  that  one?     Sold  it.     Tourist  wanted  it." 

"Where's  the  rest  of  the  camp?  Is  Chief  Billy 
back,  too?" 

"Yes;  all  back.  We're  on  our  way  to  our  own 
reservation." 

"  What  were  you  going  to  do  with  that  cow  ?  " 

"  Eat  her.  Take  her  close  to  camp,  first,  so  the 
women  could  butcher  her." 

"  But  she  wasn't  your  cow,"  argued  Phil.  "  She 
was  a  Bar  B  cow  and  she's  worth  twenty-five  or  thirty 
dollars.     And  she's  on  the  Bar  B  range." 

"  This  was  our  country  before  the  whites  put  us 
off,"  retorted  Charley,  doggedly.  "  Some  the  govern- 
ment bought  but  most  it  stole ;  and  anyway  our  treaty 
rights  give  us  privilege  of  hunting.  But  the  game 
laws  try  to  stop  us  in  that.  When  we  need  meat 
what  can  we  do  ?  " 

Behind  sounded  a  dull  rifle  shot.  Phil  pricked  his 
ears. 

"  Guess  maybe  one  of  the  boys  has  found  a  deer," 
quoth  Charley. 

But  in  Phil's  private  opinion  that  cow  had  been 
granted  only  scant  reprieve. 

"I  was  sure  it  was  you,  even  without  your  buck- 
skin," profifered  Phil.  "  But  you  pretended  you  didn't 
know  me,  and  couldn't  understand  English." 


I 


SOMETHING   HAPPENS   TO    CHERRY      355 

"Yes,"  responded  Charley,  unabashed.  "I  didn't 
want  to  know  you.     Sometimes  we  do  that." 

"Why?" 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  But  the  bear-grease  sack  did  the  business.  What 
does  that  beading  mean?  " 

"  It's  an  emblem.  I  don't  know  what  you  call  it  in 
English.  We  call  it  medicine.  It's  a  medicine  em- 
blem." 

"  A  talisman,  maybe." 

"Maybe.  It's  a  medicine  sign.  My  medicine. 
My  mother  made  it.  You  can  show  it  anywhere. 
All  the  Southern  Utes  know  it." 

Phil  examined  the  beading  more  closely. 

"  What  does  it  represent  ?  "  he  asked. 

Again  his  companion  did  not  answer.  While  now 
affable  as  any  American  youth  in  many  matters,  in 
others  he  was  Indian  reticent.  'Twas  difficult  for 
Phil  to  foretell  which  phase,  the  white  or  the  red, 
would  be  uppermost,  moment  to  moment. 

But  they  trotted  onward  in  comradely  fashion, 
sometimes  side  by  side,  sometimes  Phil  leading.  Ar- 
riving at  the  edge  of  the  grassy,  flowery  park  Phil 
looked  across  eagerly,  hoping  to  espy  Cherry.  He 
waved  his  hand,  on  the  chance  that  she  might  be  see- 
ing him  even  if  he  had  not  been  able  to  pick  her  out, 
there  among  the  timber  (for  she  was  not  in  the 
open)  ;  and  pointing  Medicine  Eye  for  the  big  pine, 
now  at  a  gallop  he  spurred  across. 

No  Cherry  was  under  the  giant  pine.  It  was  the 
pine,  all  right — the  self-same  giant  yellow  pine.     He 


356 


BAR   B    BOYS 


remembered  it  distinctly — and  furthermore,  here  were 
the  horses'  tracks. 

He  called,  his  heart  in  his  throat  again. 

"  Whoo-ee !     Cher-r-ree-ee ! " 

No  answer. 

"  Gone  ? "  inquired  the  Indian,  who  had  kept  pace 
through  the  park,  and  now  was  calmly  noting  his 
efforts. 

"  Yes.  It*s  a  girl.  That's  what  I  was  afraid  of. 
Some  man  has  taken  her — perhaps  that  one-eyed  man 
you  saw.     He  has  a  partner,  too." 

Phil  was  all  of  a  tremble.     The  Indian  dismounted. 

"  She  was  here,"  he  said,  eying  the  sod.  "  Girl's 
foot — see?  Horse  stood  there.  How  many  horses 
were  with  you?  " 

"  Three.  Hers,  and  mine  and  my  partner's.  We 
came  in  together,  from  over  that  direction;  and  Phil 
and  I  rode  out  right  along  here,  across  the  park." 

"You  and  he  get  off?" 

"  No." 

"  Some  man  has  been  here,  afoot.  See  ?  "  The 
Indian  was  scrutinizing  the  sod,  rapidly.  Phil  dis- 
mounted, to  help.  "  See?  His  feet,  her  feet."  Phil 
could  decipher  faint  outlines — now  and  then  a  heel- 
mark.     "  Came  in  from  over  there "  and  Charley 

gestured.  "  Went  out  over  there,  maybe.  Yes. 
Carrying  girl  (he  lapsed  into  a  crisp,  Indian-like 
vernacular) — sinks  in  deeper — going  to  horse,  I  bet — 
uh.  See  where  he  grabbed  her?  Sneaked  around 
the  tree.  She  was  asleep;  can't  tell.  Carried  her  to 
horse — her  horse — ^put  her  on,  I  guess — led  her  away. 


^ 


SOMETHING   HAPPENS    TO    CHERRY      357 

If  we  follow  we'll  find  he  went  to  his  own  horse,  then, 
I  bet." 

Thus,  while  Phil  looked  on  in  bewilderment,  Charley 
read  the  sod  and  finally  glanced  up  triumphant. 

"  Was  it  a  lame  man  ?  "  demanded  Phil,  anxiously. 

"  Didn't  notice.  But  only  one  man.  Want  to  fol- 
low?" 

"  I  sure  do."  And  Phil  set  his  lips  determinedly. 
"  He's  stolen  the  girl.  He  had  her  before,  but  we  got 
her.  She  doesn't  belong  to  him  and  she  doesn't  like 
him.  He's  a  low-down  rustler.  We  shot  one  of  the 
gang.  Which  way  did  he  take  her?  Show  me,  will 
you?" 

"  I'll  go  along.     You  never  could  trail  them." 

"All  right!"  accepted  Phil,  heartily.  "That  will 
be  fine.     We'll  catch  them  sure,  now." 

He  had  hoped  that  Charley  would  volunteer,  but  he 
did  not  like  to  ask  him. 

"  I  wish  we  would  meet  Chet,"  he  added,  as  they 
hastily  mounted.  "  He's  a  fighter,  and  he's  got  his 
rifle,  too." 

Horseback,  eyes  scrutinizing  the  ground  before, 
Charley  led  off  through  the  trees,  riding  alongside  the 
combined  tracks  of  man  and  animal. 

"  He  got  on  here,"  he  reported.  "  Come.  He's  in 
a  hurry.     Lame  man." 

And  at  a  quick  fox-trot,  Phil  behind,  the  trail  was 
taken  up  in  earnest 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

PHIL  REGAINS  HIS   WATCH 

Charley  rode  straight  along,  never  faltering,  his 
horse  at  the  quick  single-foot  amble — a.  cow  pony  trot. 
The  hoof-prints  in  the  soft  sod  of  the  timber  made  a 
plain  trail  to  follow.  Even  Phil  could  have  followed 
it,  by  himself;  although  not  so  rapidly. 

The  trail  ran  off  among  the  trees  as  unswerving  as 
if  made  with  a  definite  destination  in  view. 

"  He's  trotting,  too.  But  the  back  horse  doesn't 
lead  well,"  commented  Charley.  "  We'll  catch  them 
all  the  easier." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"What?" 

"All  that — that  they're  trotting  and  the  horse 
won't  lead." 

Charley  grunted  "  Huh !  "  in  true  Indian  fashion. 

"  Because  these  are  trot-tracks.  And  the  led  horse 
digs  in  with  his  front  feet,  hanging  back." 

"  Cherry'U  make  him  hang  back  all  she  can,"  as- 
serted Phil.  "  She's  smart."  And  a  little  glow  of 
admiration  warmed  his  heart,  bitter  with  worriment 
and  chagrin. 

He  and  Chet  ought  not  to  have  left  her,  that  way. 
No.  She  was  as  capable  of  taking  care  of  herself  as 
any  girl  could  be — but  they  ought  not  to  have  taken 

358 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         359 

her  at  her  word  and  left  her.  Would  those  men  beat 
her,  now,  he  wondered.  Oh — !  He  tried  not  to 
think  of  it. 

She  would  get  away,  though,  if  given  half  a  chance. 
For  she  was  as  smart  as  a  whip;  her  mind  concealed 
a  whole  lot  when  she  wanted  it  to.  And  she  never 
quit  when  once  she  was  started,  until  she  had  arrived 
at  her  goal. 

"  Three  horses,  now,"  informed  Charley.  "  An- 
other came  in  back  there." 

"  It*s  the  two  men,  then.  TheyVe  joined.  Ar^ 
we  catching  up  with  them?  " 

"No.  They  travel  as  fast  as  we.  They'll  hiir^y 
at  first;  later  they'll  slacken,  maybe.  You  want  to 
catch  'em,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

"Fight?" 

"  If  I  have  to."  Phil  hesitated.  "  But  you  needn't. 
It  isn't  your  fight.  You're  doing  enough,  to  help  me 
find  them." 

Charley  looked  back  at  him  with  the  characteristic 
grin  which  so  thoroughly  could  light  up  his  otherwise 
opaque  countenance.     By  the  readiness  of  it  Phil  in- 
terpreted that  the  owner  was  bent  upon  seeing  hin 
through.     No  words  were  necessary. 

Several  little  parks  had  been  encountered,  but  thfc 
trail  sedulously  kept  to  the  timber,  seeming  to  prefer 
short  circuits  under  cover  to  crossing  the  open.  How- 
ever, the  pines  and  spruces  appeared  to  be  thinning 
out;  and  presently  the  two  riders  emerged  upon  a 
rocky  ridge,  with  an  undulating  slope  flowing  down, 


36o  BAR   B    BOYS 

grassy,  sparsely  bushed  and  sparsely  timbered,  into  a 
great  gulch.  Opposite  and  across  arose  a  steeper, 
barer  slant,  to  culminate  in  another  rocky  ridge. 

Charley's  eyes  traveled  over  the  ground  beneath 
him;  then  swept  the  expanse  before. 

"  Lost  the  trail  ?  "  queried  Phil,  anxiously. 

The  Indian  grunted,  with  emphatic  negation. 

"  They  stopped  here  a  minute,  too.  Guess  they 
aren't  sure  which  way  to  go.  Maybe  they  hate  to 
cross  this  open  place.     First  they  ride  along  the  ridge 

— this   way "    and    he    did    the    same.    "  That 

wasn't  very  long  ago ;  horse's  mouth  dripping  on  this 
stone— see?  Hasn't  had  time  to  dry.  Then  all  of  a 
sudden  they  strike  down  this  side  lickety-split.  Must 
have  got  frightened.  Expect  they  saw  somebody. 
Maybe  us.     No.     Cowboys." 

With  head  up  and  keen  hawk-like  expression 
Charley  was  gazing  to  the  left  and  beyond  where  the 
ridge  terminated  in  a  shoulder  which,  also,  flowed 
away  in  a  long  descent.  And  following  that  gaze 
Phil  descried  two  horsemen,  obliquing  from  below 
and  heading  leisurely  up  toward  them. 

"  That  can't  be  them ! "  he  hazarded. 

"  No.     Cowboys.     Got  on  chaps." 

Charley  started  and  rode  down  to  meet  them ;  Phil, 
keeping  close  to  him,  suddenly  was  rejoiced  to  recog- 
nize in  the  two  horsemen  Chet  and  his  father. 

The  two  parties  met. 

"  How,  Charley,"  greeted  Mr.  Simms ;  his  eyes 
searched  both  faces  curiously. 

"  Cherry's  gone ! "  exclaimed  Phil. 


^ 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         361 

He  explained.  Mr.  Simms  listened  quietly,  but  his 
features  set  hard  and  stem.     Chet's  face  was  white. 

"  Dad  and  I  were  going  back  there.  He  said  we'd 
no  business  leaving  her." 

"  Never  mind  about  that.  The  thing  to  do  now  is 
to  get  her  again.     Are  you  on  the  trail,  Charley?" 

"  Over  there."  And  the  Indian  indicated  by  a  jerk 
of  his  head. 

"  All  right.     That's  what  we  want." 

The  little  party  crossed  the  slope  until  in  a  few  mo- 
ments Charley  had  picked  up  the  trail  where  it  cut 
down.  He  turned  upon  it;  the  others  followed.  At 
a  smart  jolting  trot  they  proceeded.  Charley  and  Mr. 
Simms  spoke  together,  commenting. 

"Fresh,  and  made  at  a  gallop — eh?" 

"  Saw  you." 

"  We  didn't  see  them." 

"  They  keep  in  this  little  hollow,  so  you  wouldn't." 

"  Must  have  seen  us  when  we  had  a  cow  down  and 
were  looking  her  over." 

Behind,  Chet  and  Phil  reproached  themselves,  to 
mutual  satisfaction. 

"  I  thought  I'd  get  back  before.  Honest  I  did,"  be- 
wailed Chet. 

"  I  went  back  right  away,  as  soon  as  I  heard  about 
the  one-eyed  man,"  declared  Phil. 

"  I  suspect  by  the  way  they're  running  their  hawsses 
they've  a  good  notion  that  somebody's  on  their  trail," 
was  saying  Mr.  Simms. 

Charley  grunted  his  Indian  grunt. 

"  Pretty  soon  they  try  to  lose  us." 


362 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"They  can't  lose  us,  can  they?"  asked  Phil, 
alarmed.     "  Not  while  we  have  Charley." 

"  No,"  answered  Chet.  "  He's  a  first-class  trailer, 
for  a  Ute.  Apaches  are  the  best,  though.  But 
Charley's  been  with  the  Apaches,  some.  Dad's  a 
pretty  fair  trailer,  himself,  for  a  white  man.  No 
white  man's  as  good  as  an  Injun." 

"  They  won't  know  that  we've  got  an  Indian." 

"  Hope  not ;  unless  they're  up  among  those  rocks, 
looking  down  on  us." 

Phil  scrutinized  the  rocks,  apprehensively.  The 
little  party  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  slope  and 
were  plunging  into  the  gulch.  Opposite  was  the 
other  slope,  now  near  and  plain:  a  solid  stretch  of 
rock  masses  and  boulders,  jumbled  and  heaped,  strewn 
from  low  to  high.  They  ranged  in  size,  the  majority 
of  them,  from  piano-boxes  to  small  cottages.  Among 
them  a  hundred  men  might  lie  collected  in  the  one 
spot  and  never  attract  the  eye.  How  much  easier 
might  two  men  and  a  girl! 

But  the  trail  swerved  from  this  startling  moraine 
and  turned  to  the  right,  up  the  gulch. 

"  We'll  get  'em  cornered,  soon  now,  if  they  keep 
on,"  said  Mr.  Simms.  "  They  can't  take  their 
hawsses  over  these  rocks,  and  this  gulch  pinches  out 
after  a  bit.     Trail  growing  fresher,  Charley  ?  " 

Charley  nodded. 

"  One  horse  is  giving  out.     Lots  of  froth — see  ?  " 

Mr.  Simms  twitched  his  rifle  from  the  scabbard, 
and  with  watchful  eyes  glancing  right,  left  and  peer- 
ing ahead  rode  carrying  it  across  the  horn.     The  boys 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         363 

(Phil  with  an  excited  thrill  at  the  prospect  of  close 
quarters)  imitated  him.  But  Charley  was  occupied 
with  picking  the  trail  which  waxed  harder  and  harder 
to  decipher. 

The  gulch  was  narrowing,  until  it  was  only  the  dry 
bed  of  a  mountain  torrent  that  had  scoured  deep  and 
clean  to  the  rock  stratum.  Under  the  hoofs  of  the 
horses  the  rock  rang  like  iron.  Boulders  encumbered 
the  way.  But  ever  the  trail,  at  times  a  mere  scratch 
or  two  in  the  tough  surface  underfoot,  led  on,  and 
Charley  the  Indian,  riding  more  slowly  only,  never 
was  at  loss. 

"  Try  to  get  out.  No  good,"  he  indicated,  twice, 
pointing  to  the  sheer  edge  or  bank,  where  hoofs  had 
torn  the  meager  soil,  inside.     "  Gave  it  up." 

These  efforts  somehow  reminded  Phil  of  the  efforts 
of  rats  seeking  escape  from  a  barrel.  But  he  felt  no 
pity — no,  not  so  long  as  they  had  Cherry. 

The  gulch,  narrower  still,  split  into  a  double  head; 
a  fork  diverging  to  the  right,  a  fork  diverging  to  the 
left.  Charley  dismounted  and  examined  on  foot.  He 
bent  close,  studying. 

"Horses  went  up  this  way,"  he  averred.  "But 
one  man  went  up  the  other.     Better  follow  the  man." 

"Why?" 

"  He'll  have  the  girl.  Now  they  think  they  fool 
us,  sure.  One  man  goes  on  with  the  horses;  other 
man  hides  behind  with  the  girl.  They  think  if  you 
trail  'em  you'll  keep  on  after  the  horse  prints  and 
never  notice." 

"  Don't  know  we've  got  an  Injun  with  us,  do  they/* 


3^4 


BAR   B    BOYS 


remarked  Mr.  Simms,  grimly.  "  Come  on,  Chet, 
Phil,  you  stay  here  and  hold  the  hawsses." 

Thus  Phil  found  himself  relegated  to  the  rear!  He 
could  not  protest.  He  had  learned  that  in  emer- 
gencies some  duty  falls  to  this  person,  some  to  that; 
each  is  important,  no  matter  if  apparently  trivial,  and 
all  must  be  performed.  Consequently,  disappointed 
but  saying  naught,  he  obediently  held  the  reins  of  the 
four  horses,  in  his  hand,  while  the  veteran,  Chet  and 
Qiarley  the  Indian  advanced  up  the  right-hand  rocky 
little  wash. 

"He  won't  have  gone  far  carrying  that  girl,"  de- 
clared Mr.  Simms.  "  If  anyone  tries  to  pass  you, 
stop  him,"  he  called  back,  to  Phil.  And,  to  his  own 
company,  again :  "  Spread  out,  boys." 

Rifles  forward,  they  rounded  a  turn  in  the  wash 
and  disappeared. 

"  If  anyone  tries  to  pass  you,  stop  him."  These 
words  echoed  portentously  in  Phil's  brain.  He,  too, 
then,  had  a  responsibility — one  aside  from  simply 
holding  the  horses  of  the  more  active  participants. 

His  carbine  in  his  left  hand,  the  reins  of  the  four 
horses  gathered  in  his  right,  he  stood,  waiting  and 
listening.  A  pair  of  mountain  jays  screamed  harshly 
as  they  darted  from  branch  to  branch.  A  red  mar- 
mot whistled  plaintively.  The  four  horses  stamped 
upon  the  shelf-rock  beneath  their  hoofs  and  whisked 
their  tails.  These  were  the  only  sounds.  Down  upon 
the  wash  and  the  slopes  either  side  poured  the  gener- 
ous sun. 

But  another  sound  now  crept  upon  Phil's  ears.    It 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         365 

was  a  queer,  choking  sound — a  gurgle  and  a  whine  in 
one.  He  endeavored  to  locate  it.  It  seemed  to 
emanate  from  up  the  right-hand  flank  of  the  wash 
through  which  Mr.  Simms,  Chet  and  Charlie  had  ad- 
vanced. Phil  stared,  seeking  out  the  source.  The 
whining  gurgle,  or  the  gurgling  whine,  continued. 
Bobbed  into  view  above  a  fallen  trunk  something 
black;  bobbed,  and  fell  back  again;  bobbed,  and  fell 
back  again. 

Phil  cogitated  a  moment.  Then  tying  Medicine 
Eye  to  a  projecting  root  and  looping  the  reins  of  the 
three  other  horses  over  the  adjacent  saddle-horns 
(each  animal  thereby  being  connected  with  each), 
cocking  his  carbine  he  hastily  ascended  to  the  log  in 
question. 

Cautiously  he  reconnoitered  behind  it — and  discov- 
ered Cherry,  lying  helpless  save  that  she  could  make 
that  gurgling  whine  and  raise  both  feet.  She  was 
gurgling  and  in  the  act  of  kicking  above  the  log  when 
he  looked  in  upon  her. 

Feet  and  hands  were  tied;  a  handkerchief — two 
handkerchiefs — gagged  her.  Her  eyes  gazed  up  into 
Phil's  imploringly;  also  indignantly. 

Phil  uncocked  his  carbine.  Falling  to  his  knees  he 
worked  at  top  speed  to  release  her.  He  untied  the 
handkerchiefs. 

"  Wuh !  "  sputtered  Cherry,  red  in  the  face,  ejecting 
them  violently  from  her  mouth.     "  The  dirty  things !  " 

But  Phil  had  no  time  to  waste  upon  aesthetics. 
He  cut  the  ropes  that  bound  feet  together,  and  hands. 

"  Can  you  walk  ?  '*  he  demanded. 


366 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  Of  course  I  can  walk.  Didn't  you  see  me  waggle 
my  feet  over  the  log?"  sputtered  Cherry. 

She  scrambled  up. 

"  We'll  have  to  go  right  back  to  the  horses,  then. 
Come  on.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  man  that  had  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     He  went  on." 

"Which  was  he?" 

"Joe.     The  lame  one." 

Panting,  they  reached  the  horses. 

"They'll  catch  him.  He  can't  have  gone  far,  can 
he?     How  long  were  you  there?" 

"  Just  a  little  while.  He  knew  you  were  close  be- 
hind, and  he  carried  me  from  the  horses — ^he  dragged 
me  part  way,  but  he  carried  me  too ;  he's  awful  strong 
— and  tied  me  (I  was  gagged  anyway)  and  threw  me 
behind  that  tree  trunk  and  left  me." 

"  Jiminy,  but  I'm  glad  I  found  you !  " 

"  So  am  I.  But  I  knew  I'd  be  found.  Who  else 
came  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Simms  and  Chet  and  Charley  Pow-wow. 
He's  a  Ute  Indian." 

"  I  heard  you.  I  wasn't  sure  at  first,  but  I  thought 
I'd  better  attract  attention.  Did  you  see  my  feet,  or 
hear  me  gurgle  ?  " 

"Both.     Where ?"  and   in  the  midst  of  his 

question  he  was  interrupted  by  an  outburst  of  voices 
from  up  the  wash. 

A  shot  rang  out;  another.  The  wash  and  the 
slopes  suddenly  were  filled  with  savage  cries. 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         367 

"There  he  goes!" 

"Halt!" 

"Halt!" 

"Look  out,  Chet!"     This  was  from  Mr.  Simms. 

"Bang!" 

"Stop  him!" 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  quavered  Cherry,  her  lips  parted,  her 
eyes  wide. 

There  was  rapid  shuffle  of  feet,  on  the  shelf-rock 
bed  of  the  dried  stream.  Phil  resolutely  half  raised 
his  carbine,  in  readiness. 

"  Don't  shoot,"  begged  Cherry.  "  Oh,  please 
don't." 

There  was  a  rapid  shuffle  of  feet ;  apparently  behind 
it  and  upon  either  side  the  voices  shouted  sharply. 

"  Phil  I     Phil !  "  they  cried,  in  warning. 

There  was  rapid  shuffle  of  feet — a  panting  and  a 
hoarse  breathing,  and  around  the  curve  lurched  into 
view,  running,  the  man  with  the  limp.  He  was  run- 
ning hard — leaning  forward,  dragging  his  lame  foot, 
hatless,  coatless,  face  streaked  with  perspiration,  in 
his  left  hand,  by  his  side,  a  revolver,  long-barreled. 

"  Oh ! "  spoke  Cherry,  piteously. 

Phil  could  feel  her  cower  and  shrink;  the  horses 
threw  up  their  heads.  His  carbine  sprang  to  his 
shoulder. 

"  Halt  I "  he  called  shrilly.  "  Halt !  "  He  did  not 
want  to  shoot — no,  no;  not  to  shoot  point-blank  at  a 
human  being.  But  he  had  Cherry  to  protect,  and  the 
horses  to  hold. 

"Halt!" 


368 


BAR   B    BOYS 


The  man,  running,  looked.  His  upper  lip  lifted 
so  that  beneath  his  thin  black  mustache  his  teeth 
showed  in  a  snarl ;  and  without  slackening  his  pace  he 
instantly  shot  from  the  hip.  Yes,  his  revolver  scarcely 
moved  save  to  point. 

Something  viciously  smote  Phil's  carbine,  driving 
it  from  his  shoulder;  simultaneously,  with  a  bang,  it, 
too,  exploded;  and  in  the  momentary  confusion  he 
thought  that  he  heard  other  bangs,  and  shouting 
anew;  he  hastily  picked  himself  up  from  his  knees 
to  which  he  had  been  whirled. 

Cherry  was  crouching,  her  face  in  her  two  hands, 
whimpering  hysterically.  From  right  and  left  figures 
were  scrambling  down  the  steep  bank.  Between  them, 
in  the  wash,  was  lying  huddled  and  prone  another 
figure.  It  was  the  man  with  the  limp.  He  was 
motionless.  One  of  the  figures  stopped  by  him,  the 
two  others  came  straight  on. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  boy  ? "  'Twas  Mr.  Simms,  white 
and  earnest,  his  voice  trembling. 

"  N-no,  sir.  No,  I  don't  think  so."  Phil  was  not 
certain.  He  examined  himself.  Mr.  Simms'  eyes 
were  searching  him.  "  No,  sir ;  he  didn't  hit  me,  after 
all,  I  guess." 

"  He  got  your  gun.  That's  what  he  hit."  Chet 
picked  it  up.  "  Gee !  Right  in  the  stock,  too. 
Look!" 

The  heavy  bullet  from  the  revolver  had  struck  the 
walnut  stock  on  the  inside,  and  plowing  a  way  along 
it  had  passed  over  Phil's  shoulder. 

"  Close     call,"     commented     Mr.     Simms,     "  We 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         369 

thought  he  had  you.  Phew."  And  with  shaking 
hand  the  veteran  wiped  his  brow. 

"Is  he  dead?"  queried  Phil. 

"  That's  what  we  call  him." 

Phil  forced  himself  to  ask  another  question. 

"Did— did /kill  him?" 

"  You  ?     No.     Did  you  shoot  ?  " 

"I  thought  I  did." 

"  But  Charley  brought  him  down.  Didn't  you, 
Charley?" 

"  Yes."  Charley  approached.  "  I  shot  the  same 
time  he  did,"  and  he  jerked  his  head  nonchalantly  to- 
ward the  body.  "  The  boy's  gun  went  off  right-away 
afterward." 

"That  was  when  the  bullet  struck  the  stock,"  rea- 
soned Phil,  much  relieved. 

"You  can  thank  Charley  that  the  bullet  didn't  hit 
you"  asserted  Mr.  Simms.  "  It  was  full  of  inten- 
tions, all  right,  but  went  a  little  wild.  He  wasn't  the 
man  to  miss,  if  he'd  been  let  alone.  And  he  wanted 
to  get  at  these  hawsses  mighty  bad.  But  think  of 
him  drawing  gun  on  a  boy!  Well,  he'll  never  draw 
again.     Did  he  hurt  you  any,  girlie?" 

"  No.  Just  my  feelings,"  quavered  Cherry,  regain- 
ing her  self-possession. 

"  That's  good.  We  can  cure  them,  I  reckon. 
Where's  the  other  fellow?" 

"The  one-eyed  man?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  went  up  that  other  way,  with  the  horses." 

"Um-m-m.     That's  what  we  thought.     Well,  you 


370 


BAR   B    BOYS 


boys  can  take  Cherry  and  the  mounts  down  a  bit. 
Charley,  let's  you  and  I  search  that  fellow." 

"  Did  you  shoot  at  him,  Chet  ?  "  asked  Phil,  as  they 
led  the  four  animals. 

"No.  Dad  did,  though,  and  so  did  Charley.  I 
didn't  see  him.  We  got  to  the  place  where  he  had 
climbed  out,  and  then  first  thing  we  know  he  was 
running  off  behind  us." 

"  Did  he  spoil  your  gun,  Phil  ?  "  inquired  Cherry. 
"  Let's  see.     Can't  you  have  a  new  stock  put  on  ?  " 

"  He  doesn't  want  to — do  you,  Phil !  "  objected 
Chet.  "  Take  it  home  and  show  it,  just  the  way  it 
is.     Wish  I  had  it." 

Phil  agreed.  He  would  not  have  renovated  the 
carbine,  now,  for  anything.  Its  deep  scar  was  in- 
valuable. Few  persons  could  boast  of  such  a  weapon 
— bullet-marked  in  actual  combat ! 

"  How  did  that  man  capture  you?  "  demanded  Chet, 
of  Cherry. 

"  He  sneaked  up  on  me  behind  a  tree,  and  when 
I  woke  he  had  grabbed  me  and  had  tied  a  handker- 
chief in  my  mouth.  Then  he  took  me  along,  horse- 
back." 

"  Were  you  scared  ?  "  pursued  Chet. 

"  Yes,  but  I  knew  I'd  be  rescued.  I  kept  him  from 
going  very  fast.     I  pulled  my  horse  in  all  I  could." 

"  That's  what  I  told  Charley  you'd  do,"  exclaimed 
Phil,  admiringly.  "  He  could  see  by  the  hoof-marks. 
too." 

"  Is  he  a  real  Indian  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  should  say  he  was." 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         371 

"  How  did  you  meet  him  ?  " 

Phil  suddenly  recalled  the  circumstances. 

"  Why — I  ran  right  into  him  and  three  others. 
Tht>  had  a  Bar  B  cow  and  I  made  them  drop  her. 
That  is,  the  medicine  bag  he'd  given  me  made  them." 

"  I  reckon  he's  earned  a  Bar  B  cow,  now,"  said 
Chet.  "  I  bet  dad'll  tell  him  he  can  pick  one  out 
once  in  a  while,  for  meat.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him 
we'd  have  followed  that  other  man  and  the  horses. 
The  Utes  come  through  here  only  twice  a  year — and 
sometimes  not  that.  Of  course  we  don't  mean  many 
cows." 

Mr.  Simms  and  Charlie  came  into  view,  descending 
the  gulch.  They  were  leading  a  horse.  Charlie  car- 
ried the  long-barreled  revolver. 

"  Oh,  goody  !  "  cried  Cherry.  She  clapped  her 
hands.     "It's  my  horse.     They've  found  him." 

"  We  cut  across  the  point,  into  that  other  wash," 
announced  Mr.  Simms.  "  This  hawss  was  there,  only 
a  couple  o'  rods  or  so  up.     Wouldn't  lead,  probably." 

"  No,  I  told  him  not  to,"  asserted  Cherry. 

"  This  yours,  boy  ?  "  And  Mr.  Simms  extended  a 
small  object. 

Phil  inspected.      'Twas  his  watch  ! 

"  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  Took  it  off  that  fellow.  Rather  thought  it  might 
be  yours.     Initials  P.  T.  M.  on  it." 

"  It's  mine.  But  the  man  with  the  one  eye  had 
it,  Cherry  said." 

"  And  he  did,"  concurred  Cherry.  "  But  maybe 
they  traded." 


Z7^ 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  Well,  you  Ve  got  it  back  now,  anyway,  and  you 
want  to  hang  onto  it,"  remarked  the  veteran.  "  Here's 
a  hawss  apiece,  too.  Don't  know  but  what  Cherry'll 
have  to  walk,  though,  and  let  her  hurt  feelings  ride  ! 
We'd  better  make  for  camp.     Adios,  Charley." 

"Adios."     And  Charley  shook  hands  all  *round. 

"  Ugh ! "  shuddered  Cherry,  eying  the  revolver 
which  dangled  in  his  grasp.  "  There's  that  dreadful 
gun.  He  was  always  practicing  with  it  and  showing 
how  he  could  shoot  people  ! " 

"That  gun  belongs  to  Charley  now.  He  won't 
shoot  anybody  with  it;  will  you,  Charley?"  said  the 
rancher. 

Charley  grinned,  and  flushed.  He  rode  the  one 
way;  they  rode  the  other,  for  camp. 

"  I  told  him  if  he  wanted  to  trail  that  man  with 
the  one  eye  he  might,"  communicated  Mr.  Simms; 
"  and  have  all  he  got  out  of  it.  But  we'd  done 
enough,  ourselves,  for  this  time." 

"  Is  Joe  dead  ? "  asked  Cherry,  anxiously. 

"  Dead  enough,  girlie." 

She  sighed. 

"  I'm  glad,"  she  said,  frankly.  "  He  was  a  bad 
man ;  he  struck  me  and  he  tried  to  shoot  Phil." 

"But  what  I  can't  figger  is  why  he's  been  so 
possessed  to  get  hold  of  you,"  responded  Mr.  Simms. 
"  He  never  was  your  father — was  he  ?  " 

"The  idea!"  protested  Cherry.  "I'm  not  his  at 
all.  I  know  I'm  not.  I  belonged  to  somebody  else 
before  he  got  me^-only  I  can't  quite  remember.  But 
some  day  I  shall  remember,"  she  declared,  defiantly. 


PHIL    REGAINS    HIS   WATCH         373 

"  All  right,  honey.  But  in  the  meantime,  Chet  and 
I'll  keep  you." 

"  I'll  have  to  do  better  than  I  did  this  time,  then," 
self-accused  Chet,  ruefully. 

"That  one-eyed  man  isn't  so  mean.  You  won't 
have  to  watch  out  for  him  as  you  did  for  the  other," 
comforted  Cherry.  "  Maybe  he  won't  try,  now,  after 
this." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


ADI09 

"  *  Bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prair-ee 

Where  the  wild  coyotes  may  howl  o'er  me, 

Where  the  rattlesnake  glides  to  his  cottonwood  lair/ 
But  they  took  no  heed  to  his  dying  pray'r; 

In  a  narrow  grave  just  six  by  three 

They  buried  him  there  on  the  lone  prair-eeeeeeee." 

Thus  sang  Haney  the  red-headed  Texan  as,  leather- 
chapped,  broad-hatted,  spade  upon  shoulder,  he  rode 
into  camp  again,  and  cheerfully  dismounted.  It  was 
the  morning  after  the  affair  in  the  wash ;  and  but  three 
hours  before  the  boys  and  Cherry  had  noted  Mr. 
Simms  and  the  Texan  ride  out,  bearing  the  spade, 
upon  final  business  with  the  man  with  the  limp — or 
what  represented  the  man  with  the  limp.  'Twas  a 
gruesome  errand,  but  it  was  necessary  and  not  un-^ 
kindly. 

Haney  threw  down  the  spade  and  changed  the 
words  of  his  song,  although  not  the  subject.  He 
raised  his  voice  lustily,  his  freckled  face  beaming. 

"  Then  roll  the  drums  slowly, 
And  play  the  fife  lowly, 

Play  the  dead-march  as  you  carry  me  on; 
Take  me  to  Boot  Hill, 
And  throw  the  sod  over  me, 
For  Fm  a  pore  cowboy  and  knows  I  done  wrong.* 

374 


ADIOS  375 

"Did  you — did  you  bury  him?"  faltered  Cherry. 

"Wasn't  there,"  promptly  answered  Haney,  tying 
his  horse. 

"Oh,"  said  Cherry,  meekly. 

Timid  in  the  matter,  she  failed  to  interpret  Haney's 
meaning;  however,  Chet  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"What  wasn't  there?" 

"The  corpse  for  the  buryin'." 

"  Then  you  didn't  do  it  ?  " 

"Jes'  tol'  yuh.  Cain't  bury  somebody  when  he 
ain't  there  to  bury."  Haney  negligently  extended 
himself,  his  hat  over  his  eyes. 

"But,  great  Caesar!  Where'd  he  go?"  exclaimed 
Phil. 

"Don't  know.  Looked  laik  somebody'd  come  an' 
got  him.  Mus'  have  wanted  him  more'n  we  did. 
Glad  of  it,  myself;  don't  admire  buryin'  folks,  good 
or  bad.     'Drather  punch  caows,  or  rope  bears  !  " 

"  Then  he  wasn't  dead  ?  "  gasped  Cherry. 

"  Kin  savvy  that,  either,"  declared  Haney — using 
that  favorite  cowboy  corruption  of  "Quien  sabe  (who 
knows)  ?  " 

"  Where's  dad  ?  "  queried  Chet. 

"  Comin'." 

Chet  waited,  in  a  feverish  curiosity,  shared  fully 
by  the  other  two.  Nothing  definite  could  be  extracted 
from  the  imperturbable  Texan,  who,  for  his  part,  was 
not  excited  at  all. 

"  Didn't  you  find  him  ? "  assailed  Chet,  the  mo- 
ment that  his  father  approached. 

"  Did  not,"  assured  Mr.  Simms,  gravely. 


Z1^ 


BAR   B    BOYS 


"  But  what  became  of  him  ? "  put  in  Phil. 
"  Wasn't  he  killed  ?  " 

"  We  certainly  thought  he  was,  at  the  time.  He 
was  about  as  killed  a  man  as  I  ever  saw.  But  when 
we  got  to  him  this  morning  he'd  plumb  gone." 

When  Mr.  Simms  and  Haney  had  confidently  ridden 
into  the  little  wash  there  were  marks  where  the  body 
had  lain,  blood-stains  and  all.  But  the  body  itself 
had  vanished !  Mr.  Simms  was  grimly  confident  that 
it  could  not  have  walked.  Haney  ventured  the  opinion 
that  it  was  not  of  a  type  angelic  enough  to  fly. 
Someone  must  have  carried  it. 

"  That  one-eyed  partner  of  his  did  the  trick,"  as- 
serted the  cattleman. 

"Thanks  to  Mistuh  One-Eye,  then.  Saved  us  a 
heap  o'  trouble,"  drawled  the  Texan. 

"  Y-yes — but  maybe  he's  only  saving  trouble  to  give 
it  back  to  us  with  compound  interest,"  returned  the 
cattleman.  He  sighed.  "  Just  as  we  thought  we'd 
got  that  worst  fellow  disposed  of,  too.  I  don't  like 
it;  I  don't  like  it." 

"Cohdin'  to  all  reports,  he's  daid.  Ought  to 've 
let  Charley  scalp  him." 

"Wish  I  had,"  avowed  Mr.  Simms.  " 'Spect 
Charley  would,  too.  His  father,  the  old  chief,  would, 
all  right." 

"  But  isn't  he  dead  ?  "  appealed  Cherry,  anxiously. 

"  Um-m-m — maybe,"  mused  Mr.  Simms.  "  But 
don't  you  worry.  He'd  had  plenty  to  hold  him  for 
a  long,  long  while.  A  man  with  such  a  hole  in  him 
has  no  business  living,  anyway." 


ADIOS  377 

"  Vm  glad  I  got  my  watch  back,"  said  Phil.  "  He 
didn't  go  off  with  that ! " 

"Aren't  we  going  to  follow  him  up  and  see  where 
he  went  to,  dad  ?"  demanded  Chet,  hopefully. 

"  Nope.  We're  too  late  for  the  funeral  now." 
Mr.  Simms  closed  his  lips  resolutely.  He  addressed 
Phil.  "  Get  your  things  together,  boy,  whatever  you 
have.  We'll  ride  over  to  the  steer  camp.  I  want 
to  start  that  bunch  o*  beef  out,  first  thing  in  the 
morning  to-morrow.  That's  your  chance  to  catch 
your  train." 

"  Aw,  dad  ! "  expostulated  Chet.  "  It's  right  in 
the  middle  of  things  I  Phil  wants  to  stay  to  the 
finish." 

"He's  been  in  at  one  finish — or  two.  We'll  try 
to  save  the  rest  until  he's  back  again.  But  if  he 
means  to  go  home  in  the  next  ten  days  or  three  weeks 
he'd  better  ride  in  to  the  Junction  with  this  bunch 
o'  beef.     Can't  tell  what  will  happen  later." 

"Yes,  I'd  better  go,"  assented  Phil,  reluctantly, 
gathering  his  possessions. 

"We're  going,  too,  then,"  declared  Cherry. 

"  Hurry  up." 

"  Good-by,  Haney,"  said  Phil.  He  reached  out  his 
hand. 

Haney  stood  politely. 

"  Good-by,  Smith-Jones.  Come  back  'foh  the  bears 
eat  us  all  up." 

"  I  sure  will,"  asserted  Phil.  "  Tell  Buster  good-by 
for  me,  will  you  ?" 

"Yes,  suh." 


37^ 


BAR   B    BOYS 


They  rode  away,  the  four  of  them;  glancing  be- 
hind, from  the  saddle,  Phil  saw  that  Haney  already 
was  mounting,  to  resume  his  daily  routine. 

The  steer  camp  was  a  good  half-day's  ride;  and 
so,  after  a  pleasant  travel  up  hill  and  down,  through 
timber  and  park,  'twas  toward  evening  when  they 
at  last  arrived. 

"Hello,"  greeted  Ford. 

Old  Jess  grunted.  They  both  were  "at  home," 
where  the  rude  cabin  nestled  among  the  quaking 
aspens  of  a  green  draw,  above  which,  by  a  series  of 
terraces,  rose  beyond  timber-line  a  mountain,  its  crest- 
ing ridge  seamed  and  blotched  with  snow. 

In  a  corral  were  confined  twenty-five  or  thirty 
cattle. 

"  There's  your  gather,"  said  old  Jess  to  Mr.  Simms, 
with  a  jerk  of  the  head. 

Together  they  walked  over  to  inspect. 

"  Homeward  bound,  are  you  ?  "  remarked  Ford, 
to  Phil.  He  was  mixing  bread,  was  Ford — sleeves 
rolled  and  chaps  not  yet  doffed.  An  odd  enough 
cook,  and  an  odd  enough  Bostonian. 

"  Yes,  sir;  it's  my  chance." 

"  Well,  you  can't  tell  them  back  East  that  we  didn't 
give  you  a  lively  send-off,  in  regular  *Wild  West* 
fashion." 

"  Oh,  how  did  you  know  ?  "  exclaimed  Cherry. 

"  By  mountain  wireless."  Ford  smiled  good-na- 
turedly, and  wiped  the  dough  from  his  fingers.  "  Dick 
was  here  just  before  you  came.  He'd  met  Buster, 
and  Buster  had  told  him." 


ADIOS  379 

"  But  you  haven't  heard  all.     He  disappeared  !  " 

"Who  ?" 

"The  killed  man!     They  couldn't  bury  him  !" 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  Ford's  smile  changed  to  a  puzzled 
frown.     "  What ?  " 

"  Come  on  ! "  yelped  Chet,  from  the  corral  fence. 
"  They  've  got  the  banded  steer  ! " 

Followed  by  Cherry,  Phil  joined  him. 

"  See  ?  "  and  Chet  pointed. 

"  Oh,  I  think  it's  a  shame  ! "  scolded  Cherry. 

The  banded  steer  was  easily  singled  out;  and  there 
he  was,  with  his  lean,  rangy  frame,  his  enormous 
flaring  horns,  his  red  hide  cleanly  circled  by  the  white 
stripe  like  a  parti-colored  sweater,  standing  somewhat 
morose  and  aloof  among  the  common  captives. 

"  How'd  they  get  him  ?  " 

"Dick  and  Ford  did  it.  They  roped  him  and 
brought  him  in.  He  was  with  a  lot  of  tame  cattle. 
He's  lame — see?    A  bear  or  lion  clawed  him." 

"  Are  they  going  to  take  him  for  beef  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so." 

Here,  then,  was  the  monarch  of  the  cow-range; 
who  had  been  long  as  free  as  his  remotest  ancestors 
back  when  the  cow-kind  was  new  upon  the  earth 
and  apart  from  man's  dictation;  as  free  as  any  deer, 
to  roam,  to  doze,  to  fight,  to  graze,  to  know  the  secrets 
of  the  sage  and  of  the  timber  and  of  all  the  other 
wild  folk,  friends  and  enemies;  to  defy  the  human 
tyrants,  with  their  futile  ropes;  here,  then,  he  was, 
brought  to  the  level  of  those  cattle  enslaved,  driven, 
condemned,  his  pitiable  contemporaries. 


38o 


BAR   B    BOYS 


Keen  compassion,  which  did  not  require  the  fillip 
of  Cherry's  reiterated  "  Oh,  what  a  shame  !  "  surged 
in  Phil's  heart.  The  banded  steer  glared  dully  about, 
limped  a  few  paces,  and  hoarsely  bellowed. 

Mr.  Simms  and  Old  Jess,  by  the  corral  gate,  seemed 
to  be  having  a  friendly  discussion;  which  terminated 
by  Old  Jess  hastily  waddling  away,  and  returning  with 
Ford,  both  on  horseback.     They  entered  the  corral. 

"Come  along  here  and  hold  this  gate,  boys,"  or- 
dered Mr.  Simms. 

They  went. 

"  I  know  ! "  suddenly  declared  Chet,  after  having 
watched  operations  a  moment.  "They're  cutting  out 
the  banded  steer  !  " 

In  and  out  of  the  captive  bunch  weaved  Ford  and 
Old  Jess ;  they  crowded  it  to  the  far  side  of  the  corral. 

"  Open  that  gate ! "  yelled  Old  Jess,  abruptly ;  and 
he  and  Ford  headed  for  it,  driving  between  them  the 
banded  steer. 

Out  they  passed,  at  a  trot ;  the  boys  shoved  the  gate 
to  again;  Ford  halted;  Old  Jess  with  a  shrill  whoop 
slapped  the  steer  upon  the  flank  with  his  hat-brim,  and 
away  they  tore,  lameness  or  no  lameness,  down  the 
draw. 

"They're  letting  him  go  1"  ejaculated  Chet. 

Old  Jess  pulled  short. 

"  There  ! "  he  shouted  after,  as  the  steer  galloped 
clumsily  on.  "  Go  back  to  your  range.  Yuh  ain't 
wuth  the  trailin'  to  market." 

"  Just  the  same,  he  offered  me  $25  for  him,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Simms,  dryly. 


ADIOS  381 

"  Did  you  take  it  ? "  Ford  winked  slyly  at  the 
boys. 

"No;  nor  twenty-five  cents!"  Mr.  Simms  smiled, 
sheepishly.  "  That  steer  dies  on  the  range,  I  reckon," 
he  said.  "  And "  he  added,  in  tone  almost  half- 
defiant,  as  he  turned  away,  "  I'll  be  sorry  when  he 
does  ! " 

"  He'd  never  have  let  that  steer  go  to  the  market," 
laughed  Ford.  "  Not  on  your  life.  No  more  than 
Jess  would.  They're  three  old  long-horns  together. 
Fact  is,  we'd  all  miss  the  animal.  Dick  and  I  brought 
him  in  for  fun.  He  was  crippled  or  we  couldn't  have 
done  even  that." 

"  I  hope  I  find  him  when  I  come  back,"  vouchsafed 
Phil,  wistfully. 

"  We'll  save  him  for  you,"  promised  the  ready 
Cherry.     And  Chet  concurred.      "  You  bet  !  " 

Yes,  the  "Wild  West"  was,  as  Ford  had  com- 
mented, giving  its  departing  guest  a  good  send-off. 
That  evening,  in  the  cabin.  Old  Jess  tossed  Phil  a 
snaky  coil. 

"  Take  it,  if  yuh  want  to,"  bade  Old  Jess,  curtly. 

It  was  a  braided  rawhide  rope — new. 

"  Yuh  can  show  it  to  the  people  out  East  and  tell 
'em  a  man  forty  years  a  puncher  made  it  for  yuh," 
growled  Old  Jess. 

"  Tell  'em  a  reg'lar  long-horn  made  it,"  supple- 
mented Mr.  Simms. 

Chet,  examining  and  fingering,  gurgled  extrav- 
agant envy.  Phil,  even  more  joyed,  could  say  little; 
and    that    was,    perhaps,    under    the    circumstances. 


382  BAR  B   BOYS 

enough.  Old  Jess  did  not  care  for  lengthy  thanks. 
He  had  spent  many  hours  over  that  rope,  it  was  a 
good  rope,  and  he  knew  that  it  would  be  appreciated. 

"  Hombre  left  you  this,"  said  Ford,  tossing  another 
article,  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  old  newspaper — Mexican 
print.  "  He  was  over  last  night.  Thought  you'd 
be  here  then,  he  claimed." 

"  Pshaw !  I  wanted  to  see  Hombre,"  deplored 
Phil,  honestly.  He  undid  the  package.  Within  the 
Mexican  newspaper  was  a  pair  of  spurs  inlaid  with 
dimes. 

"  Oh,  say  !  "  exclaimed  Phil.  "  I  ought  to  pay  him 
for  these.     Did  he  tell  you  how  much  ?  " 

"Not  a  word.  Just  keep  them.  When  he  sends 
in  a  bill  you  can  pay  for  them  then." 

"  But "  protested  Phil,  feebly. 

"  Nada,  nada  (nothing,  nothing),"  interrupted  Old 
Jess.  "  They  go  along  with  the  rope.  That  Mexican 
won't  take  pay  for  'em.     I  knew  what  he  was  doin'." 

"  Well — 'Some  of  you  thank  him  for  me,  will  you  ?  " 
asked  Phil,  anxiously.  "  Tell  him  I'll  be  back  and 
thank  him  myself,  some  day." 

"  Sure,"  they  replied. 

"  I'm  leaving  my  saddle  and  bridle,"  he  continued. 
"  If  anybody  wants  to  use  them  he  can."  He  forced 
a  laugh.  "  And  exercise  my  string,  will  you,  please  ? 
So  they  won't  get  too  frisky  for  me." 

"  We'll  tend  to  your  saddle  and  bridle  and  string. 
They'll  be  ready  for  you  when  you're  ready  for  them 
again,"  assured  Mr.  Simms,  heartily.  "  Your  job  with 
the  Bar  B's  open  for  you,  anytime." 


ADIOS  383 

Phil  would  have  impressed  upon  them,  further,  the 
importance  of  not  letting  Cherry  be  stolen  nor  Pepper 
run  off  again,  of  saving  some  of  the  rustlers  for  his 
return,  of  taking  good  care  of  Tom,  and  other  re- 
sponsibilities which  must  not  suffer  through  his  de- 
parture; but  Old  Jess  growled  "Bed,"  and  his  mo- 
tion was  seconded  immediately  by  everybody  acting 
upon  it. 

After  the  two-day  drive  of  the  little  bunch  of  beef 
Phil  now  stood,  still  hot,  still  dusty,  upon  the  meager 
depot  platform  at  the  Junction,  with  the  train  already 
whistling  its  approach.  He  had  found  his  trunk  and 
suit-case ;  but  he  had  had  no  time  to  change  his  clothes. 
He  could  only  stuff  away  his  beloved  chaps,  raw- 
hide, spurs  and  other  extra  belongings,  and  count  upon 
making  his  complete  toilet  at  his  leisure  in  the  Pull- 
man. 

They  four — Mr.  Simms,  Chet,  Cherry  and  he — 
had  brought  the  drive  in ;  Ford  and  Old  Jess  had  not 
been  needed  and  had  stayed  behind  upon  the  steer 
range.  Mr.  Simms  had  given  quick  hand-shake  and 
had  said,  simply:  "Well,  adios.  Come  back  when 
you  can."  He  was  uptown;  he  had  not  come  to  the 
station.     But  Chet  and  Cherry  were  here. 

"  We  ought  to  have  Buster,  to  show  him  a  train," 
blurted  Chet.     "  There  she  comes." 

He  drew  back  a  little;  so  did  Cherry.  She  had 
discarded  her  overalls  and  was  in  short  skirt  again. 
She  grasped  Chet  nervously  by  the  arm,  for  with 
rumble  and  grinding  of  wheels,  hissing  of  air  and 


384 


BAR   B    BOYS 


heat  of  engine  the  long  heavy  train  was  thundering 
past — to  slacken,  to  stop. 

Phil  gripped  a  hand  of  each. 

"  Adios,"  he  said,  huskily.     "  Keep  me  posted." 

"Adios,"  answered  Chet.     "You  bet  I  will." 

"  Good-by,"  from  Cherry.  "  Til  watch  after  Tom 
and  Pepper  and  Gray  Jack " 

The  conductor  was  calling,  impatiently :  "  All 
aboa-oard ! "  Phil  turned  and  sprang  for  a  Pullman 
entrance. 

"  Dis  yere's  a  sleeper.  Chaih  car  on  in  front," 
objected  the  porter,  eying  him  dubiously. 

"  I  know  it,"  retorted  Phil,  tartly. 

From  the  steps  he  looked  back;  he  just  had  time 
to  glimpse  Chet's  sturdy  figure  and  well-known 
shaggy  chaps,  and  the  wave  of  the  quicker  Cherry's 
hand,  when  the  train  started;  the  porter,  boarding, 
stool  in  clutch,  rudely  shoved  him  back  up  into  the 
vestibule. 

But  Phil,  when  in  his  seat  and  chancing  to  see 
himself  in  the  narrow  mirror  between  the  two  win- 
dows, could  not  marvel  that  the  porter  had  viewed 
his  entrance  with  suspicion,  and  that  in  this  well- 
bred  car  his  presence  was  being  tolerated  only  until 
an  excuse  might  be  found  for  putting  him  out.  That 
roughened,  reddened  countenance,  that  ragged  shock 
of  hair,  that  shirt  with  decidedly  negligee  collar,  these 
certainly  were  much  at  variance  with  the  plush  and 
the  polish  and  the  neat  people  sitting  about  covertly 
scrutinizing  him. 

Yes,  he  was  a  cowboy  just  off  the  range;  that  was 


ADIOS  385 

evident.  So  let  them  look  at  him ;  they  would  witness 
the  real  thing,  boots  to  hat.  He  was  a  cowboy  from 
the  Bar  B  outfit.  Little  they  knew  what  a  lot  he 
had  done  and  what  a  lot  he  could  tell.  Bears,  In- 
dians, rustlers,  wild-horses,  bucking  horses,  long  hours 
in  the  saddle,  roundup  customs,  roping,  branding, 
marking,  tarpaulin  beds,  sage  and  timber — he  was 
"  wised "  to  all.  His  faithful  leathern  chaps  were 
in  this  very  suit-case;  so  were  rawhide  rope  and  in- 
laid spurs  and  gauntlet  gloves.  He  owned  a  Ute 
medicine  bag.  This  parcel  leaning  beside  him  was 
his  rifle,  once  carried  by  a  rustler,  with  a  bullet  gash 
in  its  stock  !  He  was  leaving  behind  him,  in  the 
Bar  B  country,  which  he  had  ridden,  a  log  ranch 
among  the  remote  mesas,  cowboy  friends,  including 
his  partner,  Chet,  a  string  of  "  hawsses,"  a  dead  out- 
law shot  by  Pete  the  roundup  cook,  another  who 
might  be  dead  and  might  not,  shot  by  Charley  the 
Indian,  a  third,  with  one  eye,  who  was  alive,  a  girl 
named  Cherry  whom  the  outlaws  had  stolen  and  who 
could  not  remember  where  she  came  from,  a  man 
who  had  punched  cows  forty  years  and  another  who 
never  had  seen  a  railroad  train  and  another  who  was 
from  Boston — all  working  at  the  Bar  B,  a  wild  long- 
horn  steer  whom  nobody  wanted  killed ;  and  oh,  much 
other  romance  which  city  people  would  never  guess. 

He  had  left  also  his  saddle  and  bridle  (they,  too, 
had  belonged  to  an  outlaw)  ;  for  he  was  to  go  back; 
aye,  he  was  to  go  back  and  be  a  cowboy  again;  there 
with  Chet  his  partner  (another  boy)  to  help  in  fin- 
ishing those  events  which  they  had  helped  to  start. 


386  BAR    B   BOYS 

But  just  now  he  was  going  home,  to  show  himself 
and  his  trophies  and  to  relate  his  adventures.  Strong 
and  well  and  self-reliant  (a  very  different  personage 
from  him  of  the  outward  trip)  was  he  going  home, 
to  his  father  and  mother,  to  a  welcome,  to  a  bed 
betwixt  clean,  fresh  sheets,  to  a  table  set  with  cloth 
and  napkins  and  gleaming  glass  and  china,  to  cream 
and  butter  and  chicken,  to  a  bath-tub,  to  a  familiar 
porch  and  familiar  street  and  familiar,  eager  voices. 
He  was  going  home;  home.  Suddenly  a  great  gush 
of  warmth  welled  in  his  heart.  He  was  going  home 
— and  he  was  glad  of  it! 


THE  END 


'T  -^^Tjj 


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